
y.ry. 

i 


BvSrrrv 1 

iHjifHstihi 


r:tis. 


mm 


m 


rndmnmmh 


s i 3r *&£*>?'' 


tiMUMmii 







\ .... 


". ?*".v ; ;; 


’ <\; 



li Jfc «■ * J £: 




-/■ r~* 

■*•** U". ' 


Izj*: 


i: 


ttMii 

m 


H 

jbafTrJfJ 




t!l j:f! i 

■hlfll 























Class .. PZ5 _ 

ftn nlr , H32J? 2 


GopyrigMTJ?_ 


MoCt 


C! 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSm ' 


L 











. 
































* 







. 


































»* 
















- 



































s 
















































*■ 





» 













* 






▼ 





















MATTHEW BRENT 










/ 





















MATTHEW BRENT 


By 

HIRAM W. HAYES 

Author of 

Paul Anthony , Christian. 



NEW YORK 

THE H. K. FLY COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


U32<e$ 

|Aot 






Copyright, 1923, by, 

THE H. K. FLY COMPANY. * 



Made in U. 8. A, 

DEC 31 iy^y 

©C1A705540 ■> 


AAf 


JUST THINK OF IT 

S UPPOSE you had been removed from the business 
world fifty years ago;— 

Suppose from that time until the present you 
had been kept in total ignorance of its financial devel¬ 
opment, its growing lust for power, its ever expand¬ 
ing greed and its wonderful progress in mechanical 
invention 

Suppose you were then brought back and in some un¬ 
expected manner forced to administer the affairs of the 
Standard Oil Company, or some great newspaper, or 
industrial plant:— 

What do you think would be the immediate result to 
yourself and others, especially if there was no one in 
whom you had confidence, to whom you could turn for 
information, or advice? 

That is the situation which Matthew Brent was 
forced to confront; and this is the story of what he did 
and what happened, because he had not considered 
both sides of a most vital subject. 

While it is undoubtedly true that great wealth may 
become a great evil, it is equally true that wealth 
carries with it opportunities and responsibilities toward 
mankind, which cannot be evaded. 























Kfs&vA*. 





MATTHEW BRENT 


CHAPTER I 

S IMON Brent sat alone in his private office intently 
studying the three-column picture of a girl’s face on 
the front page of his morning paper. 

This might not have been considered an unusual occu¬ 
pation for the ordinary man, as girls’ pictures have al¬ 
ways been an attraction, and the picture at which Simon 
Brent gazed was that of an unusually pretty girl. 

But Simon Brent was not an ordinary man. 

At that moment—the early spring of 19—, —and 
for some years previous—Simon Brent had been the dom¬ 
inant figure in the world of finance. He was the manag¬ 
ing director and owned the controlling interest in a score 
or more of the most gigantic industrial, transportation 
and financial corporations. No man of the day was more 
generally in the public mind. 

It is not surprising, therefore, that he was at once the 
most greatly envied, the most cordially hated, the most 
assiduously courted, the most bitterly excoriated, the 
most loudly praised and the most ardently admired man 
in America. He was everything good to his friends and 
admirers. He was everything bad to his critics and 
enemies. 

Friend and foe alike, however, were forced to admit 
that it was his grasping nature and almost total disre¬ 
gard for the rights of others that had made him the 
undisputed money king of the land. 

If any of the millions of persons upon whose lips the 
9 


10 


MATTHEW BRENT 


name of Simon Brent was so familiar could have seen him 
at this moment, they would have wondered what there was 
in the picture to attract a man of his age—for Simon 
was past eighty, while the picture was that of a girl not 
more than eighteen. 

“I wonder!” he muttered to himself, “I wonder!” 

He held the paper closer to the light and studied it 
carefully. Then he read the caption above the picture. 

“Mary Brent!” he ejaculated. “Mary! That was her 
grandmother’s name, if she is really whom she pretends 
to be.” 

He arose slowly from his chair and approached a 
small case filled with books. Opening the case, he had 
just laid his hand upon one of the volumes w r hen a dapper 
office boy entered. 

“A personal letter for you, sir,” and he held out the 
missive. 

“What’s that?” asked Simon in a thin querulous voice. 

“A personal letter for you.” 

“A begging letter, you mean! I don’t get any personal 
letters. Give it to Morris.” 

“Prichard says this is personal, sure enough,” insisted 
the boy. “He says it’s from your brother.” 

“My brother!” gasped Simon as he reached out his 
hand. “Did Prichard say that?” 

Then as he took the letter from the boy’s hand and 
held it toward the light: “Why didn’t Prichard bring 
it himself?” 

“He didn’t look like he could, sir. He looks shakier 
than you.” 

Simon turned his eyes from the letter and frowned 
down upon the boy over the rim of his spectacles—for in 
spite of his eighty years, Simon was still erect, although 
almost as thin as a shingle. 

“Tell Prichard to come here!” he snapped. 


MATTHEW BRENT 


11 


The boy hastily left the room and Simon returned to 
his seat at the desk. With trembling fingers he unfolded 
the letter and held it up to the light, intently examining 
the signature. 

“Yes,” he muttered, “it’s Matthew’s signature all right. 
It’s been close to fifty years since I’ve heard from him, 
but the signature is the same. I wonder what he is writ¬ 
ing about?” 

Then the picture again caught his eye. 

“That’s it!” he mused aloud. “It’s about the girl! 
It’s about the girl!” 

“What’s that about the girl?” queried a voice at his 
elbow, whose tones were almost as agitated as his own. 

“Oh, it’s you, is it, Prichard ?” exclaimed Simon looking 
up at the man who had silently entered the office and 
whose manner, appearance and gestures proclaimed him 
the old confidential clerk. “You recognized the signature, 
too, did you?” 

“Yes, sir, although it’s been many years since I saw it.” 

“It must be about the girl,” said Simon. “You’ve been 
reading the papers, I suppose?” the last words in a peev¬ 
ish and aggravated tone. 

“Yes, sir!” stammered Prichard apologetically, “I 
couldn’t very well help seeing it, sir.” 

“No, I suppose not.” 

Then, in a rather uncertain manner as he held out the 
letter. “Here, you read it!” 

Prichard carefully closed all the doors before he took 
the letter from Simon’s hand. Then, seating himself on 
a chair at his employer’s side, he read: 

“Tonga, February 10, 19—, —■” 

“Tonga, did you say?” interrupted Simon. “Where is 
Tonga?” 


12 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“Somewhere in the South Seas. It must be a long 
ways off. The letter is dated more than two months ago.” 
“Well; go on; maybe we shall find out.” 

Prichard continued to read: 

“My dear Simon:— 

So many years have passed since I have written any thing but 
the briefest of business letters—even these being confined to one 
or two a year—that my hand has lost its cunning and my brain, 
too, I fear. You will, therefore, forgive me if I write of nothing 
but the matter in hand. 

If I remember, my last letter to you was written at the time 
of my wife’s death, some forty-five years ago. We were then 
living in Samoa.” 

“Oh, yes,” interrupted Simon. “I remember—and that 
reminds me, Prichard, how about that Hawaiian sugar 
concession? The matter has been before the House com¬ 
mittee long enough. If it’s necessary to bring pressure 
to bear, let me know. It’s too valuable to neglect.” 
Then suddenly, “but go on with Matthew’s letter.” 

Again Prichard read: 

“After my wife died I took my little boy, Horace, and came 
here to Tonga. I suppose you would best know the place as the 
Friendly Islands. You remember we used to read about them in 
the voyages of Captain Cook, when we were boys.” 

“Yes, yes,” exclaimed Simon rubbing his hands, “I 
remember! Why they’re all cannibals down there!” 

“Not now, I guess,” ventured Prichard, “but if you 
like I’ll have some of the clerks find out something about 
them.” 

“No, no, never mind! Go on with the letter!” 

“When Horace grew up he married—•” 

“Whom, I wonder,” again interrupted Simon, “a 
cannibal?” Prichard again read: 

“—an English girl, the daughter of a missionary. Sixteen years 
ago, in an epidemic of tropical fever, both Horace and his wife 


MATTHEW BRENT 


13 


were taken away, leaving to my care their two-year-old daughter, 
Mary; and now then to the business in hand.” 

Prichard stopped to fold the sheet and Simon pushed 
the morning paper toward him. 

“Mary!” he exclaimed pointing to the picture. 

Prichard gave the picture but a casual glance as he 
continued to read: 

“Some weeks ago, while in Nukaulofa, the capital of the 
Islands, I saw a New York paper and in' it was your picture. It 
did not tell much about you, but enough to convince me that you 
are a man of some wealth and prominence.” 

“Huh!” grunted Simon. “They must have spoken better 
of me than usual.” 

Prichard read on: 

“It then occurred to me that Mary ought to see something of 
her own race and people, and so I have decided to send her up 
to you for a little visit. There is in the harbor a tramp ship, 
which will sail for San Francisco tomorrow. I am sending Mary 
to you in care of the captain and his good wife, who happens to 
be with him. They tell me that it is now possible to put her on 
a train in San Francisco, on which she can go right through to 
New York without change. The captain will do this for me. I 
trust—inasmuch as she is my granddaughter—that you will so 
far overlook our past differences as to let her stay with you 
and your wife for a few months and then find some suitable way 
of sending her back to me. She is all I have. 

Mary will tell you all about me when you see her. My heart is 
too sad to write more, but I owe this much to Mary. 

Your brother, 
Matthew Brent. 

P.S. 

Believe me, you will not find Mary quite such a savage as you 
may expect. 

M.B.” 

During the reading of the last of the letter Simon had 
made no comment, but sat with eyes fixed on the picture 
before him. Even after Prichard had finished, he still 


14 


MATTHEW BRENT 


remained silent until Prichard remarked in a questioning 
voice: 

“Well?” 

Then he broke forth, not in a torrent of words, but in 
that cold even voice which those who had found them¬ 
selves in his power had learned to fear. 

“It is not well! Matthew is the same idealistic fool 
he always was. My wife, indeed! Does he think I was 
insane enough to get married? After all the quarrels we 
have had, doesn’t he know my only wife is ‘business’? I 
have no time to waste on children. I won’t have her!” 

“She doesn’t look like much of a child, sir,” suggested 
Prichard indicating the picture. 

“The picture is probably a fake. ’Phone over to the 
Planet and find out. Tell Duvall I want to know what 
he means by printing a fake picture and saying it is my 
niece.” 

Prichard did as bidden. Without ringing off he re¬ 
ported to Simon that the picture was a snapshot made 
by the Planet's special correspondent in San Francisco 
five days previous. 

“Let me talk to him,” said Simon savagely, taking the 
’phone from Prichard’s hand. 

“That you, Duvall?” he demanded. 

Being assured that it was, he exclaimed: “What do 
you mean by printing a picture of my niece in the Planet 
without my permission?” 

“We didn’t say she was your niece, Mr. Brent,” was 
what he heard over the ’phone. “We said she was the 
young woman who claims to be your niece.” 

“That’s worse yet. Of course she’s my niece! The 
only living relative I have—except my brother.” 

“But we knew the other papers might have the picture 
and we—” 

“I can’t help what the other papers do! Don’t I own 


MATTHEW BRENT 


15 


the Planet? Hadn’t I ought to be able to have a little 
something to say as to how it is run?” 

“But you’ve said so often that you didn’t want to 
bother with it; that you didn’t care what was in it, except 
when you wanted to use it—” 

“Never mind what I said! After this if any one ever 
dares to hint that she isn’t my niece, he shall pay for it. 
She has come half around the world to make me a visit,” 
and he set the ’phone down with no little vehemence. 

Prichard looked at him in amazement. 

“I thought you said you wouldn’t have her?” 

“Who said I wouldn’t have her! Isn’t she Matthew’s 
granddaughter ? Where else would she come if she didn’t 
come here? Find out where she is and see that she has 
a private car the rest of the way. And Prichard,” rising 
to his feet in his excitement, “you take a week off and 
see that proper accommodations are prepared for her. 
Get your wife to help you, and have the bills sent to me.” 

Then as an after thought: “I can’t be bothered with 
children myself, but they have to be looked after just the 
same.” 

After Prichard had gone, Simon sat for a long time 
with his brother’s letter in his hand—not reading it, but 
with half closed eyes, running back in his mind over the 
years since he had started to attain the place in the finan¬ 
cial world which he now occupied. Presently he sum¬ 
moned the office boy. 

“Billy,” he ordered, “bring me all the morning papers.” 

The command having been obeyed, Simon spent the 
next half hour in reading all they had to say about 
the girl, who upon landing in San Francisco six days 
before, had set the reporters wild by announcing that 
she was the grandniece of Simon Brent. 

He was still reading when Billy, the office boy, an¬ 
nounced : 


16 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“Mrs. James Buchanan Durham. She says she wants 
to see you on a matter of great importance.” 

Simon’s face grew hard. 

James Buchanan Durham had been the only close 
friend Simon Brent had ever had. At the age of fifty he 
had married a young wife, a thing for which Simon 
never forgave him. When he died, some three years pre¬ 
vious to the date upon which the story opens, he left his 
widow and son in affluence; but contrary to Simon’s ad¬ 
vice, the widow had insisted upon making some bad invest¬ 
ments, which had so disgusted the aged financier that for 
the past six months he had refused to see her. He was 
now about to refuse again; but as he glanced at the picture 
of Mary Brent spread out on the desk before him, a 
thought came into his mind which caused him to order the 
boy to admit her. 

“This seems to be my off day,” he muttered. “I might 
as well have all the foolishness over at once and be done 
with it.” 

He slowly arose to his feet and awaited Mrs. Durham’s 
entrance. 

It is not difficult to describe Mrs. Durham. She was a 
type with which all are familiar. Well rounded in figure 
and with a face made free from wrinkles by the aid of the 
masseur’s art, she easily could have passed for forty, had 
it not been for her son, Arthur, whose twenty-seven years 
were well outlined upon his handsome features. With an 
inherited hauteur, which had not been in the least dimin¬ 
ished when she married James Buchanan Durham and his 
wealth, Mrs. Durham was so trained in social diplomacy, 
that for the moment her graciousness almost deceived the 
aged financier. 

“I am so much indebted to you for granting me this 
interview,” she declared, as she extended her hand with 
a smile that would have done credit to a Talleyrand. 
“I am in such distress.” 


MATTHEW BRENT 


17 


“Indeed!” replied Simon, not to be outdone in diplo¬ 
macy now that he had put his hand to the plow. “And 
how can I serve you, madam?” 

“I am almost afraid to tell you.” 

“Tut! Tut!” from Simon as he proffered her a chair 
with studied politeness. “Fear is the father of failure.” 

“I know your time is valuable,” she began. 

“Then don’t waste it!” snapped Simon. 

Her face flushed. 

“I won’t,” she said crisply. “I need forty thousand 
dollars at once.” 

Simon eyed her quizzically. 

“On what security?” he asked. 

“These,” and she drew from her sable muff a little 
package of bonds. 

Simon gave them a hasty glance as she held them 
towards him. 

“I wouldn’t give you four thousand for the lot,” he 
exclaimed without even taking them from her hand. 
“Where did you get them?” 

“Mr. Morris bought them for me.” 

“Morris ? Uh huh! I see!” and Simon raised his 
spectacles to his forehead and looked at her searchingly 
from under his shaggy eyebrows. 

After a moment he reached out and took the bonds 
from her hands, now trembling with anxiety. 

“No,” he continued as he slowly turned them over. 
“I wouldn’t loan you forty thousand dollars on these, 
but,” and he rubbed his sharp chin meditatively, “I will 
let you have the money on one condition.” 

She regarded him in the utmost surprise. “What is 
it?” she finally asked. 

“That you will look after my niece during her visit 
to me.” 

“I was not aware that you had a niece,” she said coldly, 


18 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“and my position in society is not to be compromised for 
twice forty thousand dollars.” 

“Oh, you women!” he exclaimed under his breath. Then 
as he pulled his spectacles down over his eyes: “I am not 
surprised at your attitude. Neither was I aware that I 
had a niece until an hour ago—although—” he added 
grimly, “the papers have been suggesting it, as the law¬ 
yers say, for the past week.” 

Mrs. Durham’s face cleared. “I understand,” she said, 
“So she really is your niece?” 

“Matthew vouches for her over his own signature,” and 
he held out to her his brother’s letter. 

Mrs. Durham perused it carefully. 

“She must be a perfect savage,” was her only remark 
as she handed back the epistle. 

“So it seems.” 

“And I believe she has a savage for a companion.” 

Simon raised his eyebrows. 

“They call her a tropical violet,” he said grimly. “She 
can’t be so bad.” 

“Am I to take charge of both of them?” 

“Who else?” 

Mrs. Durham slowly shook her head. 

“Porty thousand dollars is too little; unless,” she 
added, “you will find me a purchaser for these bonds.” 

Simon raised his head and regarded her intently. 

“Madam,” he said in his short snappy manner, “I 
have been misjudging you. I did not think you had that 
much business in you. Leave the bonds with me and con¬ 
sider the matter settled.” 

Mrs. Durham arose to go. 

“When do you expect your niece?” she asked. 

“In two or three days. I will advise you as soon as 
she arrives. In the meantime I will see that forty thou¬ 
sand dollars is placed to your credit. Good morning!” 


CHAPTER II 


H AD Mary Brent known the sensation her arrival in 
America would occasion, it is doubtful if either she 
or her grandfather would have consented to her coming; 
but it was in total ignorance of the prominent position 
her uncle occupied that she landed in San Francisco one 
beautiful day in April and was taken by Captain Eck- 
strom and his estimable wife to the Golden Gate Hotel, 
a modest hostelry much frequented by sea-faring men of 
the higher rank. 

There are good newspaper men in San Francisco. 

That is why there are good newspapers. 

One of these men, whose business it was to seek for news 
from incoming steamers, ran afoul of Captain Eckstrom 
before he had been ashore an hour. 

The good captain, although he had heard at various 
times of Simon Brent, was not aware of his importance— 
the importance given a man by the possession of many 
millions of dollars; but Captain Eckstrom was enough of 
an old salt to see that a good yarn could be spun about 
a girl who had spent her whole life on a South Sea Island 
and was now making a twelve thousand mile trip to visit 
her grandfather’s brother—a relative who was in ignor¬ 
ance of her very existence. 

Because the reporter knew his business, it did not 
take him ten seconds after the name of Mary Brent’s 
uncle was mentioned to see the value of the story. He 
asked for an interview, which was readily granted, and 

19 


20 


MATTHEW BRENT 


the sight of Mary but added zest to the story—for Mary 
was a beautiful girl. There was no denying this, no 
matter what particular style one might prefer. Her 
figure was as slender as a Naiad and fully as graceful. 
Fair-haired and blue-eyed, her pearly teeth glistened 
through lips of cherry red, which matched to perfection 
her rosy cheeks. As for her attire—but why go into 
details. Suffice it to say that she was clad in garments 
which had been her grandmother’s—garments which her 
grandfather had guarded sacredly for forty-five years. He 
had bestowed them upon Mary as she was leaving Tonga 
with the declaration that she would be “right in style, 
for styles are sure to come around every fifty years.” 
Whether the statement was true or not, the gown of 
flowered silk, with the tight fitting bodice and deeply 
flounced skirt became her well, and never did a newspaper 
camera have a fairer subject. 

Inspired by Mary’s blue eyes, the reporter gave full 
play to his fancy; and no more romantic story—if you 
are willing to take the reporter’s w T ord for it—ever came 
in through the Golden Gate. 

The following morning, not only his own paper, but 
all the other papers belonging to the same service, played 
it for a feature, and Mary awoke, after a quiet night’s 
rest, to find herself the news center of the day. 

For a few hours the story was received without 
question. Then the papers which had been scooped on 
the story began to get busy. When Simon was inter¬ 
viewed in New York and refused to confirm the relation¬ 
ship, it was hinted in broad language that Mary was an 
adventuress. All of which disturbed Mary not at all, for 
she did not read the papers and was unconscious of what 
was said about her. 

Ignorant of what a big city looked like, for the first 
two days after landing in San Francisco the girl was com- 


MATTHEW BRENT 


21 


pletely dazed by its noise and confusion. After that, her 
curiosity began to get the better of her fear, and she tried 
to make the city fit into her ideas of what was going 
on about her—ideas based almost entirely upon her 
knowledge of life as gleaned from the writings of one 
William Shakespeare, the study of which had been made 
her daily occupation by her grandfather. 

“If you are familiar with Shakespeare and the Bible,” 
he had often told her—and he still believed it—“you can 
be dropped into any part of the civilized globe and be 
considered well educated.” 

So it was that she read both books diligently, and from 
the former had gained most of her ideas of men and the 
world. 

Because of her timidity and the unusual attention she 
attracted, she was greatly embarrassed, said little, and 
for a time experienced a touch of homesickness. This 
soon passed away and she was quite her natural self by 
the time she and her Tonganese traveling companion, 
Ila-Ila, were placed in charge of the Pullman Company 
en route for New York. 

“I think Uncle Simon must have received Daddy’s 
letter by this time,” Mary said to Ila-Xla as the train 
was nearing Kansas City on its way eastward. “Captain 
Eckstrom said he ought to get it early Saturday 
morning.” 

“Ila-Ila doesn’t know,” was the calm reply. “Ila-Ila 
is not awake. Ila-Ila must be in a dream. Isn’t Missy 
afraid she will awake?” 

Mary laughed, her spirits having been completely 
restored by her three days in the Pullman and the atten¬ 
tion bestowed upon her by the passengers, who were 
greatly interested in the girl and her quaint speech. 

“No, indeed,” she replied, “Daddy has told me all 
about the cars and I seem to have been expecting this 


22 


MATTHEW BRENT 


all my life. Methinks I should hardly be surprised if I 
were to meet Hamlet.” 

“Who is Hamlet? Ila-Ila doesn’t know.” 

“Of course you do not. Hamlet was a prince of Den¬ 
mark, a fair land in the North Sea. He no longer lives; 
but perchance Uncle Simon will take us to Denmark. It 
cannot be far distant from New York,” and she let her 
eyes wander over the rapidly changing landscape. 

“Uncle Simon will be surprised to see us,” said Ila- 
Ila, again referring to Simon Brent by the only name 
she knew. 

“Yes,” replied Mary, thoughtfully, “methinks he will. 
Daddy says he is a stern man, but that nobody could be 
displeased with so fair a grandniece—and Daddy wouldn’t 
lie.” 

“Lie?” queried Ila-Ila. “Lie about what?” 

“About my being pretty, forsooth.” 

The little maid looked at her with wide open eyes. 

“Are the sunshine and the flowers and the birds 
beautiful?” she asked in a soft musical voice, “and is not 
Missy’s face like the flowers, her voice like the birds and 
her hair like the sunshine?” 

Mary’s cheeks grew pink. She twined her arms lov¬ 
ingly about Ha-Ha’s neck as she whispered: 

“Mayhap; but Ila-Ila is like the starlight, and her 
voice like the water that ripples against the shore at the 
foot of the great palm. Look!” 

She turned Ila-Ila’s face to the little mirror between 
the car windows and peeped over her head. 

“It is the twilight and the dawn,” she laughed, and 
Ila-Ila laughed with her out of the love in her heart. 

When the train stopped in Kansas City, a strange thing 
happened. The conductor, who, up to this time had 
seemed to the girls a most important personage, ap¬ 
proached with his cap in his hand, followed by two other 


MATTHEW BRENT 


23 


important-looking men and two white-coated porters. 

“This is Miss Brent,” said the conductor to the most 
important-looking man. 

Then to Mary: “This is Superintendent Barry of the 
M. and T. He has an order from Mr. Simon Brent to 
furnish you with a private car for the rest of your 
journey.” 

Mary looked at him in astonishment. 

“A private car!” she exclaimed. “I do not understand 
you, good sir. Prithee explain!” 

The passengers crowded around. 

“What is it?” asked one. 

The conductor repeated his words. 

“Then she really is Simon Brent’s niece?” queried 
another. 

Mary turned toward the speaker wuth flashing eyes. 

“Has any one ever dared doubt it?” she asked; and for 
the life of him the speaker could not reply, but slowly 
sank back out of sight. 

Her words and actions were so different from the 
gentleness she had heretofore displayed that the other 
passengers regarded her with mingled surprise and 
admiration. 

“She’s a Brent, all right!” laughed one of them as the 
porters gathered up her luggage, and Mary and Ila-Ila 
were escorted from the car. “You can call Simon Brent 
all the hard names you please and he will only smile; but 
let any one question his veracity and he becomes a 
tornado.” 

Installed in the private car of the General Manager, 
Mary entered upon an entirely new phase of life. 

Now that she was recognized as the possible heiress of 
Simon Brent, she became a personage of importance. 
Although the only persons about her through whose 
demeanor the change could manifest itself were the porter, 


24j 


MATTHEW BRENT 


waiter and train crew, Mary was quick to detect it; but 
it did not affect her in the least. It w T as right in line with 
all the other experiences through which she had passed 
since landing in the United States. Not for one instant, 
however, did she consider that this exaltation was any 
more her portion than that of Ila-Ua. 

“It is just like the gorgeousness of Solomon,” Mary 
said to Ila-Ila, “and I feel like the Queen of Sheba must 
have felt when she first beheld it.” 

“It must be a dream!” Ila-Ua insisted. “It cannot be 
real. Even the birds do not fly as fast as we.” 

“Prithee, do not talk so foolishly,” was Mary’s reply. 
“It is just as Daddy told me it would be—only,” she 
added after a moment, “he wot not that Uncle Simon had 
a car all his own.” 

“She acts just like she was done born to it,” remarked 
the white-aproned waiter to the white-jacketed porter. 

And why shouldn’t she? 

In Tonga, every native on the Island had always done 
her bidding and she had taken their homage as a matter 
of course. She would have done as much for one of them 
had it been necessary—but it never was. 

Her first disappointment came upon her arrival in 
New York, where she was met at the train by Prichard. 

“Oh, Uncle Simon!” she exclaimed as she threw both 
arms around Prichard’s neck and kissed him. “I am so 
glad to see you! This is Ila-Ila!” and she pulled her 
companion forward. 

Prichard blushed at the honor shown him, but managed 
to stammer out: 

“I—I’m not your Uncle Simon. I’m his clerk!” 

“His clerk!” exclaimed Mary, drawing back. “A 
scrivener? Prithee, good sir, where is my uncle? Kindly 
take me to him at once!” 

“Why—,” again stammered Prichard, completely 


MATTHEW BKENT 


25 


abashed in the presence of this regal young person, “he’s 
busy. He couldn’t come to the train, but he’ll be at the 
hotel.” 

“Hotel 1” exclaimed Mary. “Perchance you mean an 
inn. Does my uncle, forsooth, reside at an inn?” 

“Your uncle lives at his club.” 

“Club?” repeated Mary, completely at a loss to com¬ 
prehend the statement. “I do not know—” If Prichard 
heard he paid no attention to her words, but added 
abruptly: “This way, please,” as he hurried toward 
the automobile, wondering what Simon would think of this 
beautiful, old-fashioned young woman, who was about as 
different from those who surrounded her as one could 
possibly imagine. 

“I hope I’ll be forgiven the lie,” he thought to himself 
as they sped toward the hotel, “and I do hope he will go 
and see her.” 

Prichard need not have been concerned. 

Simon had done nothing but think about the girl from 
the minute he had given his first order regarding her. 

As soon as he knew the train was in, Simon left his office 
secretly and made his way to the hotel. Here he secured a 
place from which he could see her when she entered, 
without being seen himself. 

With the very first sight, his heart stirred. 

“My own flesh and blood,” he muttered, as he grasped 
the back of a chair for support. 

As he stood thus observing her, it would have been im¬ 
possible to put his thoughts into words. For years he had 
been thinking of himself as absolutely alone; and now to 
be suddenly confronted with this beautiful creature, who 
appeared to have just stepped out of another period, and 
to realize she was actually something to him—that she 
had come half way around the world to see him—was 
almost more than he could believe. 


26 


MATTHEW BRENT 


Such an impression did she make upon Simon that his 
complete conquest was achieved then and there. It even 
angered him to see the curiosity seekers who had gathered 
to catch a glimpse of her—for from the minute he had 
admitted to the public that Mary was his niece, her 
progress eastward had been minutely noted by every 
metropolitan daily. 

“I’ll put a stop to this curiosity business,” he muttered 
between his thin lips as he surveyed the crowd. I’ll buy a 
house. Yes, I’ll buy a house today.” 

He was as good as his word. As soon as he had seen 
her take the elevator, he entered a telephone booth and 
gave his real estate broker an order for the purchase. 
As he was leaving the booth he ran into Prichard. 

“I didn’t know you were here, sir!” exclaimed the clerk. 
Then in a confidential whisper: “She’s here!” 

The corners of Simon Brent’s mouth twitched. 

“So I see!” he snapped, “and,” indicating the crowd, 
“all New York knows it.” 

Then in an undertone: “did she ask you anything about 
me?” 

Prichard chuckled. “I should say she did. Flew right 
at me and kissed me, and called me Uncle Simon.” 

“Called you what?” 

“Uncle Simon! Took me for you and was terribly dis¬ 
appointed when she found out I wasn’t. I told her you’d 
see her at the hotel. Of course I knew you wouldn’t want 
to, but—” 

“Knew I wouldn’t want to ?” interrupted Simon. “Pri¬ 
chard, you’re a fool! Of course I want to see her. What 
do you suppose I’m here for? Take me right up to her 
room; and, Prichard, I’ve just ordered Randall and 
Phelps to buy me a house. A hotel is no place for a girl.” 

Without more words, but with many misgivings, Pri¬ 
chard led the way to Mary’s apartment. When they 


MATTHEW BRENT 


27 


reached it Simon was trembling so greatly that it filled 
the solicitious clerk with sudden fear. 

“You are not ill, are you, sir?” he asked. 

“No, no!” replied Simon. “Only a little nervous at 
meeting the first of my own flesh and blood that I’ve seen 
for fifty years. Do you wonder?” 

Prichard did not; nor did he wonder a moment later 
when they entered the room and Mary, with a little sob 
exclaimed: “Oh, Uncle Simon! Didn’t you want to see 
me?” But he did wonder to see Simon take the girl 
quickly in his arms and reply: “Of course I wanted to see 
you! Has any one dared to say I didn’t?” the while he 
looked savagely at Prichard from under his shaggy 
eyebrows. 

“N—No,” was Mary’s somewhat timid reply as she 
noted the frown upon his brow; “but you failed to greet 
me at the train and you had me sent to an inn. I thought 
that perchance you and my aunt—” 

“Your aunt?” exclaimed Simon. “Your aunt who?” 

“Why, your wife. I trust she is well?” 

“I have no wife!” snapped Simon; and then in a kind¬ 
lier tone: “I had you brought here because it’s a good 
hotel; but I can see you don’t like it. Tomorrow we’ll 
have a house of our own.” 

“Oh, I see!” she said. “This is but a temporary abode 
until you are through housecleaning.” Then turning 
suddenly: “But you haven’t met Ua-Ila. She is my 
Nerissa!” and she led forward the little Tonganese maid, 
who stood by in awed astonishment. 

Simon bestowed but one glance upon Ila-Ua—consider¬ 
ing that quite sufficient—and again turned his gaze upon 
Mary, whom he fairly devoured with his eyes. 

“Matthew’s granddaughter!” he kept saying over and 
over to himself. “Matthew’s granddaughter! I can 
hardly believe it! And how is Matthew?” 


28 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“Matthew?” interrogatively. Then with a rippling 
laugh: “You mean Daddy! He’s very happy, thank 
you, sir!” 

Simon regarded her earnestly. 

“I’m sure of that,” he said. “He must be! How’s his 
health?” 

“Forsooth, I never heard him say; but he can’t help 
being healthy, if he’s happy!” 

“Oh, he can’t!” laughed Simon, eyeing her curiously. 
“That’s certainly good philosophy.” 

“That isn’t philosophy, Uncle Simon. That is truth.” 

Simon looked at Prichard and his eyes twinkled. 

“Then you don’t consider philosophy truth?” he 
queried. 

Oh, no, sir!” was her quick reply. “You find philoso¬ 
phy in Shakespeare, and you know that’s fiction. You 
have to read the Bible to find the truth.” 

Simon and Prichard exchanged knowing glances, but 
neither spoke until Simon changed the subject by 
remarking: 

“Prichard, have you notified Mrs. Durham of my niece’s 
arrival ?” 

“No, sir, but I will at once,” and he immediately pro¬ 
ceeded to call up that estimable lady by ’phone, while 
Simon plied Mary with questions concerning her grand¬ 
father and her South Sea Island home. 

“She is altogether the finest girl I ever met,” Simon 
confided to Prichard some hours later, “and while I am 
much interested in hearing about my brother and his 
peculiarities, I am more interested in Mary and her quaint 
speech.” 


CHAPTER III 


U NDER Mrs. Durham’s supervision, Mary was 
speedily domiciled in her new home and her tutelage 
in modern manners begun. 

Never having had anyone upon whom he could lavish his 
money, Simon put no limit upon the expenditures, either 
as to the furnishing of the house or upon the girl’s 
wardrobe. 

“I don’t know anything about such matters,” he told 
Mrs. Durham, “and I don’t want to. Providing an invest¬ 
ment is a good one, the greater the amount invested, the 
greater the returns. My niece looks to me like the best 
thing I ever promoted. Use your own judgment and send 
the bills to me.” 

Having been given such instructions, Mrs. Durham 
speedily turned the residence into a palace and gowned 
her protege like a princess. 

To Mary, Mrs. Durham was a wonder. 

For the first few months of her novitiate she did what¬ 
ever Mrs. Durham bade her. After that—well, it is 
sufficient to say that the time soon came when Mrs. Dur¬ 
ham was not only glad, but proud to take her cue from 
the “little savage,” the name she had used in first describ¬ 
ing her to her son, Arthur. 

“Is she as bad as that?” he had asked with a laugh. 
“Fully!” his mother had replied. 

Then as a further description: “The only difference I 
can see between her and that Tonganese girl she has 

29 


30 


MATTHEW BRENT 


brought along as her boon companion is her color—and 
there isn’t a great deal of difference in that respect. 
She’s the whitest savage I ever saw.” 

“Who,” queried Arthur in surprise. “Miss Brent?” 

“No, stupid, the companion! Ila-Ila, she calls her. 
Who ever heard such an outlandish name?” 

“I don’t see anything outlandish in it, mother. It 
reminds one of Minnehaha—Laughing Water, as the poet 
interprets it.” 

Remembering this conversation, Arthur received the 
surprise of his life the first time he saw Mary. 

“Savage, indeed!” he exclaimed under his breath. 
“She’s a queen!” 

With him it was a case of love at first sight—and 
Arthur Durham was far from being a sentimental youth. 
In fact, he had all the up-to-date aversion to what the 
word sentimental implies. He prided himself that he was 
a very practical young man, and his business associates 
agreed with his estimate of himself. 

When he hinted his feeling with regard to Mary, his 
mother was much concerned. 

“She’s a penniless nobody,” she declared. 

“She’s Simon Brent’s niece,” he replied. 

“Simon Brent!” and Mrs. Durham sniffed the air. 
“Well, who’s he?” 

“He’s certainly not penniless,” laughed Arthur. 

“No,” admitted Mrs. Durham, “but he’s a nobody— 
socially.” 

Arthur laughed long and loud. 

“You’re all right, mother,” he finally managed to 
ejaculate, “but you’ll have a hard time making people 
agree with you. The glamour of Simon Brent’s money 
sheds a halo around him to most of us. Not that we 
admire his methods; but we are obliged to admit his 
perspicacity. The glamour of this same money puts the 


MATTHEW BRENT 


31 


spot light on his niece. The added possibility that she 
may some day inherit a few millions makes her a decided 
somebody in New York.” 

With this Mrs. Durham was obliged to be satisfied. 

That others agreed with Arthur was evidenced by the 
fact that it was only a few weeks until all of Mrs. Dur¬ 
ham’s multitudinous invitations included her charming 
protege. Ere Mary had been in New York three months, 
she told Ila-Ila one day that she was so busy that she 
didn’t have time to think. 

“Why does Missy want to think?” asked the little maid. 

“Why, forsooth, if I do not take time to think, I shall 
forget some of the people and things I have seen when we 
return to Tonga.” 

“When will that be?” 

“Oh, not for a long time! Uncle Simon says we haven’t 
begun to see America yet.” 

The maid heaved a deep sigh. 

“Ila-Ila is sorry,” she said. “Ila-Ila would rather be in 
Tonga.” 

If Ila-Ila would, Mary was very sure she would not. 
She liked New York. She enjoyed the unusual gaiety. 
She reveled in the luxury. She gloried in the homage 
paid her. 

Had she been different from what she was, she would 
have been spoiled. 

That she was not spoiled, was due to her years of free¬ 
dom from any sense of the power of money. She believed 
that people were kind to her because they loved her. She 
had not yet come to know the deceitfulness of riches. She 
was sure that her Uncle Simon loved her for herself alone, 
as she loved him. It never occurred to her that others 
might be different. 

As for Simon, he absolutely adored her. 

Immediately after Mrs. Durham had put the household 


32 


MATTHEW BRENT 


in running order and installed a suitable housekeeper, 
Simon deserted his club and took up his abode at the new 
home. 

“I am going to live with my niece,” he told his acquaint¬ 
ances. 

Never by word or deed did he intimate that this was 
not the exact condition. Mary, not he, was the head of 
the household. He was simply an obedient slave. 

Arthur Durham was not the only one of the numerous 
men to whom Mary was introduced, who were impressed 
with the girl. Her naivette and ingenuousness would 
alone have proven a great attraction, but when there were 
added to this a beautiful face and the glamour of wealth, 
to which Durham had alluded, her power of attraction 
became well nigh irresistible. 

Among those thus attracted was Gilson Gage. 

Although a comparatively young man, Gilson Gage was 
already considered among the successful financiers of the 
day. He had frequently been mentioned as Simon Brent’s 
greatest rival for the control of the Street. He had 
consummated several successful financial coups and on one 
or two occasions had taken his profits off Simon. 

Naturally, therefore, Simon did not like him. 

Mary knew nothing of this. When Gage was first 
introduced to her she liked his looks. He had a pleasing 
personality, and exerted himself to gain her favor. 
Despite his extreme practicality and business acumen, he 
had in him a vein of sentiment that appealed to the girl. 
Reared, as she had been, in an atmosphere of romance— 
her books, her surroundings and her grandfather all tend¬ 
ing that way—she enjoyed Gage’s conversation more 
than any one she met, with the possible exception of 
Arthur Durham. 

She did not, however, consider them in the same class. 

Durham was to her simply a most agreeable young man 


MATTHEW BRENT 


33 


in whom she did not look for much wisdom. He was a 
charming companion and a model escort. She was taken 
with his abrupt manner and his up-to-date speech, so 
different from her own. She liked his breezy ways, and 
she was particularly attracted by an odd little smile 
which almost continually hovered on his lips and which 
seemed to say to her: “Fear not.” 

Gage was classified by her as “dignified.” She always 
thought of him as “Mr. Gage.” His words seemed 
words of wisdom, and she often thought that, next to her 
uncle Simon, he would be better able to give advice than 
any man she knew. 

The second three months of her stay marked a new 
phase in Mary’s development. She began to detect 
beneath the surface some of the insincerity which has 
unnecessarily come to be looked upon as a necessity of 
social life. She began to see that some of the attention 
paid her was merest flattery. 

Then it was that she sat herself upon the edge of Ila- 
Ila’s bed one night and exclaimed in the words of her 
favorite heroine: 

“ ‘By my troth, Ila-Ila, my body is aweary of this great 
world.’ Methinks their is more happiness in Tonga.” 

Ila-Ila opened her sleepy eyes in astonishment as she 
replied: 

“You know it!” 

The tone and manner of speech were so unlike Ila-Ila 
that Mary burst into hearty laughter. 

“Why, Ila-Ila, you are using slang!” she exclaimed, 

“Slang?” and the little maid opened her eyes wider. 
“That is what Mr. Durham says.” 

“And I suppose whatever Mr. Durham says must be 
right?” 

“Doesn’t Missy think so?” 

Mary shrugged her shoulders. 


34 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“I am beginning to think that nobody says what he 
means.” 

“Why, Missy!” 

“Except you and Daddy,” said Mary. 

She arose and went to her room, leaving Ila-Ila to 
wonder at her mood. 

Some weeks later, at Mrs. Durham’s suggestion, Simon 
gave a reception in honor of his niece. When it came to 
sending out the invitations, Simon gave Mrs. Durham a 
list of those who should not be invited, instead of those 
who should. The list contained the names of so many who 
had entertained Mary, that Mrs. Durham was completely 
nonplused as to the course she should pursue. 

In her perplexity she turned to Mary. 

Then for the first time Mary became commander-in- 
chief and Mrs. Durham was demoted to the rank of 
subaltern. 

Kneeling beside Simon’s chair after dinner that 
evening, Mary placed the matter before him in the fewest 
words possible and closed by asking: 

“Wherein lieth the difference, Uncle Simon? If some 
are worse than others, it is only because they know no 
better. Daddy says everybody w r ould be good if they 
knew how.” 

Simon regarded the girl in silence for several minutes. 

“That sounds just like Matthew,” he finally said slowly. 
“If he had said it to me when I last saw him, I should 
have told him he was an idealistic fool. Now I am not 
sure but it is true.” 

“Of course it’s true, or Daddy wouldn’t have said it.” 

“Does Matthew always tell the truth?” asked Simon 
quizzically. 

“Fie, for shame, to ask such a question, Uncle Simon! 
But methinks it is but a jest.” 

“Yes, yes!” he answered hastily. “I was only joking. 


MATTHEW BRENT 


35 


As for the people, ask whom you will, if they have been 
nice to you.” 

That is how Gilson Gage happened to be among the 
guests. 

Simon was seated in his chair, surrounded by a group 
of young people—among whom was Mary—when Gage 
approached to pay his respects. At sight of him, Simon’s 
face darkened. Mary noted the look, although ignorant 
of its cause. She laid one hand quickly upon Simon’s 
shoulder as she extended her other to Gage. 

The light touch brought Simon to himself and—in 
response to Mary’s “You know Mr. Gage, Uncle Simon” 
—caused him to say with a tinge of sarcasm: “Oh, yes; 
I know Mr. Gage. A man could hardly be in business in 
Gotham and not know Mr. Gage.” 

“You flatter me, Mr. Brent,” replied Gage, adroitly 
ignoring the double meaning of Simon’s words. 

“I never flatter,” was Simon’s sharp rejoinder. “I 
mean just what I say.” 

Further conversation along this line was prevented by 
the approach of other guests. 

Later in the evening Gage found an opportunity to say 
to Mary: “I am greatly indebted to you, Miss Brent, for 
your invitation here tonight and for the kindly reception 
given me by your uncle. His words mean much to a man 
in my position.” 

“I am so glad; but prithee thank me not,” replied Mary 
with the utmost candor, her pure mind never surmising 
that there might have been a double meaning to her 
uncle’s words. 

“Yes, indeed,” continued Gage, recognizing the sincer¬ 
ity of her speech. “That a man with such vast interests 
should have taken note of so obscure an operator as I, is 
an incentive to greater endeavor. I trust I may be 
allowed to call again.” 


36 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“ ’Twill be a pleasure, indeed, to receive any friend of 
my uncle’s.” 

As Gage withdrew he bestowed upon her a look of the 
deepest admiration, a look which was noted by Ila-Ila, 
from an obscure corner in which she had found refuge, and 
who—by Mary’s express command—was observing all 
that was passing. The look was also seen by Durham, 
who, in spite of his effort not to make a spectacle of him¬ 
self, had been unable to keep his eyes off his fair hostess 
for more than two minutes at a time during the whole 
evening. 

“Mr. Gage seems a most interesting individual,” he said 
as he took that gentleman’s place at Mary’s side. 

“You say truly,” was the earnest assent. “He has 
seen much of the world and, like Othello, tells many 
strange tales.” 

“Othello ? Oh, yes! He was the colored gentleman who 
smothered his wife with a pillow. I am afraid Gage 
resembles him in more respects than his story-telling 
ability,” was Durham’s somewhat savage retort. 

The tone of his voice caused Mary to observe him with 
considerable astonishment. 

“I am quite sure he does not,” she said gently. 

Durham’s face flushed at the implied rebuke and he ex¬ 
plained in a milder tone: 

“Gage isn’t my kind of a man. I’m sure he isn’t yours.” 

“No?” with a look of surprise. 

“No; but with your innate goodness, you see nothing 
but good in anyone. Far be it from me to open your eyes 
to the other side.” 

“Then you think there is another side, Mr. Durham?” 

“Unfortunately, yes. Most men have two sides. It is 
only natural, I suppose, that Gage should try to show you 
his best.” 

“Mayhap ’tis so,” admitted Mary with just the sug- 


MATTHEW BRENT 37 

gestion of a sigh. “I’ve seen very little of the bad side. I 
am sure Daddy and Uncle Simon have not two sides.” 

“I admire your faith in mankind,” said Durham 
seriously. “Despite my effort to see only good, however, 
I am forced to believe that every mortal has two sides.” 

Had Durham known the trouble this remark was to 
have caused him later on, he would have bitten off his 
tongue sooner than have made it. 

“Well,” said Mary thoughtfully, after a brief pause, 
“we are toldVhere ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise.’ 
I may be living in a fool’s paradise, but I enjoy it. 
Besides, just the little bad I have seen, warns me it is 
something I do not want to know.” 

“There is np doubt of that,” was Durham’s emphatic 
reply. “Suppose we do not discuss the bad any more. 
Let’s talk about something good—about, well, about you 
for instance.’* 

“Do you think I’m good?” she asked innocently. 

“The best I ever saw,” was the decided answer. 

“Oh, thank you, sir! I trust I am.” 

“Take my word for it and don’t worry I” and the smile 
she liked so much spread itself over his face. 

Mary looked at him in silent wonderment. His abrupt 
speech and odd expressions were still so strange to her 
that she did not always grasp his meaning. 

“Don’t worry,” she thought to herself. “Why should 
IP Oh, dear!” she exclaimed aloud. “Methinks I never 
shall learn.” 

“Never learn what?” and Durham regarded her with 
interest. 

“To know what your words mean.” 

“They mean just what they say, of course,” was the 
incongruous reply. 

“Forsooth, I doubt it not! ’Tis I who am stupid!” 

“Stupid? You stupid? Why you are the—” 


88 


MATTHEW BRENT 


To just what extent Durham might have given vent to 
his opinions there is no telling, had not Mrs. Durham 
espied them and broken up their tete-a-tete as only a 
well-trained chaperon knows how. 

“I wonder what he was going to say?” thought Mary 
as Mrs. Durham led her away ; and the interrupted con¬ 
versation was the event of the evening which lingered 
longest in her mind after the reception was a thing of the 
past. 


CHAPTER IV 


M ARY’S progress from the ideas of fifty years ago— 
gathered from her grandfather—into the modern 
mode of thinking, was much more rapid than might have 
been expected. So quickly did she adapt herself to her 
changed conditions, both in speech and action, that one 
meeting her about this time would never have believed 
that she was not to the manner born. 

Just about as rapidly, also, did she change from her 
childish ways to those of a coy and coquettish maiden. 

Simon, although totally indifferent to all affairs of the 
heart, was as shrewd in the reading of feminine character 
as in the masculine—and that he was past-master of the 
latter art, his wealth fully attested. Perceiving thereby 
the sudden change in Mary, he began to seek for a reason 
and was not long in discovering what he sought. His dis¬ 
covery, however, was the result of accident rather than of 
wisdom. 

Awaiting her return from a drive one afternoon, he fell 
asleep in a darkened nook and did not hear the big car 
when it stopped in the porte-cochere; nor did he know 
that Mary and Ila-Ila had returned, until he was awak¬ 
ened by their chatter on the other side of the tapestry. 

He started to rise, but the conversation attracted his 
attention and he stopped to listen. 

“Then why did he look at Missy like that ?” Ila-Ila was 
asking. 

“Like what?” interrogated Mary. 


40 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“Like the cat looks at the little bird it would eat. Ila- 
Ila likes it not.” 

Mary laughed. 

“Methinks Mr. Gage would hardly take time to eat any 
one; he thinks too much of his business. But I would that 
he would stay away. I like not old men.” 

As Gilson Gage was under forty, he probably would 
not have felt himself highly flattered could he have heard 
the expression. 

“Not like old men!” exclaimed Ila-Ila. “Missy not like 
Uncle Simon?” 

“Of course! I love Uncle Simon. I don’t mean in that 
way.” 

“How does Missy mean?” 

“Well, as I like Mr. Durham^ for instance.” 

“Does Missy like him?” 

“He is just like Bajssanio,” was Mary’s uncertain reply. 
“How I should have feared, had I been Portia, that he 
might choose the wrong casket.” 

“Who, Mr. Durham?” 

“No, Bassanio—Portia’s sweetheart.” 

“Who was Portia?” 

“Didn’t I ever tell you about Portia?” asked Mary in 
surprise. 

“Missy told Ila-Ila about Juliet. Was she anything 
like that?” 

“Yes, only different,” was the laughing response. 
“Portia was a young woman just like me, and she had a 
maid named Nerissa, who wasn’t really a maid; more like 
a friend—just like you. Portia’s father was a very rich 
man—most as rich as Uncle Simon, I guess—and when he 
died he left a strange will, in which he gave all his wealth 
to Portia; but he did not leave her free to marry whom 
she would. Instead, he left three caskets, in one of which 
was hidden Portia’s picture. Every suitor for her hand 


MATTHEW BRENT 


41 


had to choose one of the caskets. Whoever chose the one 
containing her picture, she would be obliged to marry 
whether she liked him or not. 

“Many chose and failed until at last Bassanio came to 
woo. Portia loved him, and oh, how she wished he would 
choose the right casket!” 

“Then why didn’t she tell him the right one?” inter¬ 
rupted Ila-Ila. 

“That would not have been honorable. No one would 
do a dishonorable deed.” 

Simon, behind the curtain, chuckled to himself and 
became even more attentive. 

“But,” continued Mary, “because love guided his choice, 
and not the greed of gold, Bassanio chose the right 
casket.” 

“I’m so glad!” exclaimed Ila-Ila. “But nobody has 
left Missy three caskets.” 

Mary laughed. 

“No, nor great wealth either. There are not many who 
would seek me. Daddy’s house in Tonga would not 
amount to much here.” 

“But Missy has this house. I heard Uncle Simon give 
it to her.” 

“But only to live in while we are visiting him,” replied 
Mary, “just as he gives us the automobile and fine dresses 
and all the pretty things in the house.” 

“But he might leave it all to Missy when he dies. I 
have heard Mrs. Durham say so.” 

“You must not listen to such foolish talk,” declared 
Mary severely. “Uncle Simon is not going to die. But 
I would rather Daddy would not leave me anything than 
that he should not leave me free to marry whom I will,” 
and Mary heaved a little sigh as she picked up her cloak 
and left the room. 

“There’s no foolishness about her,” declared Simon as 


42 


MATTHEW BRENT 


he slowly emerged from his retreat after the girls had 
left. “She knows her own mind. She’s a Brent all right!” 
and he again chuckled to himself. 

Having discovered that Mary was interested in Arthur 
Durham, Simon began to take especial notice of the young 
man. As a lad he had a great liking for him. He would 
have been glad at any time after his father’s death to 
have assisted him; but, as before stated, Mrs. Durham 
interfered so much in the management of her husband’s 
estate, that Simon had practically ignored them. 

Now he determined that he would try the young man 
out. As a result he began throwing small orders in the 
way of the brokerage firm of which Arthur was a member. 
Without an exception his commissions were well executed. 

Then Simon began to send for the young man person¬ 
ally and discuss with him some of his minor affairs. The 
more he saw of Arthur the better he liked him. Incident¬ 
ally, also, it may be said that the more ability he found 
in the young man, the higher arose his opinion of Mary. 

Simon Brent’s man of affairs—the head of his financial 
department, so to speak—was Franklin Morris. He was 
a type that one invariably meets around big financial 
concerns in one position or another; and not only was 
he a type, but a perfect type. Having been brought up 
on the Street, he knew all its sharp practices and was 
a valuable assistant to one of Simon’s disposition. 

But Simon never took Morris into his deepest con¬ 
fidence. 

Despite this, however, Morris managed to know a 
great deal more of Simon’s affairs than that astute 
financier imagined. Thus he was able to make himself 
appear far more important than his position really war¬ 
ranted. 

When Simon began his investigation of Arthur Dur¬ 
ham’s ability—for that is what his interest in the young 


MATTHEW BBEN1 


43 


man amounted to—Morris became jealous. Not knowing 
Simon’s motive, and seeing Durham so frequently about 
the office he began to fear he was to be displaced. Grad¬ 
ually his jealousy developed into a positive hatred for 
the young man. 

Durham was perfectly ignorant of Morris’s feelings. 
Had he known them, it would have been a matter of total 
indifference—for Durham was one of those young men 
who had the metropolitan idea of self-reliance strongly 
developed. 

All of which has no particular bearing upon this par¬ 
ticular period, but will save much explanation later on. 


CHAPTER V 

I T WAS near the beginning of Mary’s second year in 
New York that Simon Brent sat at his desk one morn¬ 
ing busily writing. Having finished, his right hand me¬ 
chanically thrust the pen through the scanty gray hair 
above his ear, while his left slowly raised from his desk 
the document to which he had just affixed his signature. 
With both hands he held paper out at arms length under 
the electric light and carefully perused its contents. 

Several times during this perusal he leaned back in his 
chair, closed his eyes and pondered deeply^ 

Almost at his elbow, where he could scan the tape 
without raising his eyes from his desk, the ticker pounded 
out its ceaseless staccato as it recorded the fluctuations 
of the markets. 

In the offices on both sides, private wires conveyed to 
his brokers buying and selling orders in the markets of 
the whole world. 

In offices still further removed from his sanctum, an 
array of stenographers and clerks reported and recorded 
the deals and the profits. 

In the street below, on ’Change, and in the financial 
institutions at home and abroad, eager eyes and eager 
ears awaited the news of every move made in these offices; 
but unmindful of all this stress and strain—unmindful 
of the thousands who hung upon his slightest word— 
Simon Brent sat silently pondering whf|t was to be his 
last earthly mandate. 


44 


MATTHEW BRENT 


45 


“Yes,” he finally mused aloud as he pursed up his thin 
lips and pushed an electric button on his desk, “I’m sure 
it’s the right thing. Matthew will see that everything is 
done as it should be.” 

In answer to the bell, Billy hastily entered from an 
adjoining room. 

“Tell Prichard to come here!” Simon commanded. 

Billy turned as on a pivot and disappeared through 
the still open door, while Simon carefully placed three 
seals on the document he had just signed. 

He had hardly finished when Billy returned, followed 
by Prichard. 

“Did you send for me, sir?” asked the latter. 

Simon nodded and raised his eyes from the desk just 
in time to see Billy again pivoting for the door. 

“Here, Billy,” he called, “I want you, too.” 

The pivoting became a full turn as the youth brought 
himself up beside Prichard in front of Simon’s desk. 

“I want you to witness this document,” said Simon. 
“It’s my will.” 

“Your will, sir?” from Prichard in surprise. Oughtn’t 
you to have a lawyer?” 

Simon looked savagely at his clerk. 

“Don’t you think I know what I want better than any 
lawyer can tell me?” 

“Oh, yes, sir,” Prichard hastened to reply; “but wills 
are such uncertain things, sir; and—and—if you’ll pardon 
my saying it, sir, when yours goes into effect, you won’t 
be here to attend to it.” 

Simon smiled grimly. 

“No, Prichard, I won’t; but a better man will.” 

Then, noting a startled expression upon Prichard’s 
face, he added in a more confidential tone: 

“Don’t think I haven’t had a lawyer—the best I can em¬ 
ploy—and believe me, there are no flaws in it.” 


46 


MATTHEW BRENT 


He pushed the document toward the aged clerk. 

“Sign there!” 

His hand trembling with emotion, Prichard affixed his 
signature. 

“To think,” he exclaimed as he slowly straightened up, 
“to think that I should be called upon to witness a docu¬ 
ment that disposes of a billion—” 

“Prichard!” snapped Simon sharply; and Prichard 
promptly collapsed as Simon motioned Billy to a chair. 

“Put your name there!” he commanded, “and when the 
time comes, don’t forget that you wrote it, how you 
wrote it and when you wrote it.” 

The smartness of Billy’s face gave way to one of earn¬ 
estness as he slowly wrote his name. Then as he sur¬ 
veyed his signature he said: 

“You’re on the right side of the market when you put 
your money on me, Mr. Brent.” 

“Was that all, sir?” asked Prichard deferentially as 
Simon drew the paper carefully to him and blotted the 
signatures. 

“Yes!” curtly. 

As the two withdrew, Simon picked up the document 
and again read it through carefully. Then he placed it 
in an envelope, sealed it and superscribed it with his 
lawyer’s name. 

Setting the sealed envelope against the inkstand, Simon 
leaned back in his chair with his hands on the arms. 

“Yes,” he muttered, “Matthew will see that things are 
done as they should be. He’ll divide it much better than 
I can.” 

He nodded his head vigorously several times. 

A couple of minutes later he arose from his chair and 
crossed the room to the bookcase. Taking one of the 
volumes therefrom, he opened it and began to read. Sev¬ 
eral times some one appeared in the doorway leading to 


MATTHEW BRENT 


47 


the outer offices, but seeing him standing there thus occu¬ 
pied, none dared to disturb him. 

If he saw them he paid no heed. 

It might have been fifteen minutes later that the door 
from the outer hall opened and Mary entered. 

What a different Mary from the one who had landed 
from the private car at the Grand Central station only 
sixteen months before! No longer the flounces her grand¬ 
mother wore, but the close-fitting tailor-made. No 
longer the Shaker bonnet, but a jaunty hat that added 
to the intelligence and beauty of her face. 

She was all that could be desired. 

From the Gotham viewpoint, at least, Mrs. Durham 
had well earned the forty thousand dollars which Simon 
Brent had placed to her credit the day that Mary had 
become to him a living reality. 

From just a moment after entering the room Mary 
stopped in astonishment at what she saw. 

Then a smile overspread her face, and taking a couple 
of quick steps with a movement so graceful that it accen¬ 
tuated her slender shapeliness, she exclaimed with a laugh: 

“Why, Uncle Simon, reading fiction during office 
hours!” 

With an exclamation of pleased surprise the old man 
slowly raised his eyes from the book as he replied: “No, 
my dear; not fiction, but character.” 

A puzzled expression spread itself over the girl’s face. 

“Character?” she queried. “Aren’t you reading one 
of Daddy’s books?” 

She took a step nearer and looked up into his face— a 
face upon which years of money-making had left deep 
lines, although for the time being they were softened by 
the expression of affection with which he regarded his 
fair visitor. 

“Yes, child,” he replied, “it is one of your grandfather’s 


48 


MATTHEW BRENT 


books; but I am not reading it for the story. I am read¬ 
ing it to have a talk with Matthew—my brother Matthew 
whom I have not seen for fifty years.” 

“I see,” laughed the girl. “Daddy’s heroes all talk just 
like Daddy.” 

“Yes, Mary, and his heroines just like you.” 

“Do you think so?” and her face flushed with pleasure. 

“Don’t you know it?” 

“I hadn’t thought of it, Uncle Simon; but perhaps they 
do.” 

“They do.” Then suddenly: “I should like to take 
Matthew by the hand and thank him for sending you to 
me—to a lonely old man without a friend—cut off from 
the world and imprisoned by the very wealth he used so 
much to crave.” 

The girl started forward impulsively and laid both 
hands upon his arm. 

“Oh, Uncle Simon!” she exclaimed, “won’t you leave 
it all for a time and come down to Tonga and visit 
Daddy ? He would love so to see you!” 

The expression on Simon’s face changed from one of 
sadness to one half gay as he patted her fair cheek. 

“Do you really thing that Matthew would care to see 
me? You know we parted in anger.” 

“What, Daddy angry! Uncle Simon, you must be mis¬ 
taken.” 

Simon’s brows contracted as though he would make a 
stern reply; but the frown quickly cleared under the 
girl’s steadfast gaze. 

“At least we thought we were angry,” he finally said. 

“But you’re not angry now—either of you?” 

“I can only speak for myself, and to prove that I am 
not angry I have arranged a surprise for Matthew. I 
have bought Commodore Allin’s steam 3^acht, Arethusa. 
Next Monday we shall start for a six months’ cruise 


MATTHEW TRENT 


49 


around the world, with the Island of Tonga as our chief 
port.” 

“Uncle Simon, do you really mean it?” 

The girl’s cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkled as she 
impetuously clasped both hands about his arm. 

For a moment Simon made no reply, as with softening 
eyes he contemplated Mary’s happy face. Then, as the 
ghost of a smile appeared around the corners of his 
mouth, he exclaimed with a voice full of affection—a re¬ 
juvenated voice, which he scarcely recognized as his own! 

“Yes, I really mean it, Mary. I’m going to take a 
six month’s holiday and bring Matthew back. The idea 
of anyone burying himself in the South Sea Islands for 
fifty years is preposterous. We’ll bring him back with 
us, that’s what we’ll do.” 

Mary shook her head gravely, while into her eyes came 
an expression which clearly betokened her kinship to the 
man at her side. 

“I am afraid you don’t know Daddy yet,” she said. 

SJmon smiled almost broadly as he returned the book 
he had been reading to its place in the case. 

“You mean }^ou think he won’t come?” 

“I am afraid not.” 

“Then I know him better than you do, Mary. The man 
who could write that twelve inches of books,” and Simon 
indicated the half dozen volumes on the shelf before him, 
“would never refuse to do anything that would help lift 

some one out of the slough of despair-even though 

that someone was his old fool brother.” 

“Why, Uncle Simon, you know that the name doesn’t 
fit—” 

“It fits me like an old shoe,” he interrupted. 

Then as Mary was about to reply he continued: 
“Where can you find a greater fool than the man who 
has spent sixty odd years in forging a chain, every link 



50 


MATTHEW BRENT 


of which binds him tighter and tighter to a whirling mill¬ 
stone, that will eventually crush out his life? Where 
can you find a bigger fool than the man, who, for more 
than seventy years, has been imprisoning himself in a cell, 
every bar of which has cut him off more and more from 
human love and friendship? Yes, has even caused him 
to forget that such things as love and friendship exist!” 

“But you haven’t done that, Uncle Simon,” declared 
the girl firmly. “Just see how easily you opened the door 
of the cell to me when I came.” 

The old man placed a hand tenderly on each of the 
girl’s shoulders and looked earnestly into her face. 

“You mean,” he finally said, “how easily you opened 
the door and admitted yourself.” Then after a pause: 
“Do you know, child, you are the only human being I 
have ever loved?” 

“What! Not Daddy?” and Mary almost instinctively 
drew away. 

“Not until you came. I had read his books—first from 
curiosity, then from admiration and lastly from real 
pleasure—but it was not until he sent you to me and I 
began to see his soul shining through you, that I came 
to love him as a brother should. That is why I am going 
to bring him back.” 

“But suppose he won’t come—suppose he doesn’t even 
wish me to come?” 

Simon’s face grew pale and his hands clutched the 
girl’s shoulder convulsively; but he uttered no word. 

“You know,” she continued. “I have been here more 
than a year now.” 

“You wouldn’t stay there?” he finally managed to ask. 
“You wouldn’t bury yourself away down among those 
savages ?” 

“Daddy is there!” she said softly. “It is home!” 

Silently he gazed into her upturned eyes, through which 


MATTHEW BRENT fil 

the purity, gentleness and trustfulness of her nature were 
revealed. 

“Yes,” she repeated with a smile, “it is home, and it 
is so beautiful with its birds and its flowers, the sea and 
the sky and—and Daddy.” 

“But you will come back! You will come back!” he 
pleaded. 

Her reply was prevented by the hurried entrance of 
Arthur Durham. 

Mary turned her head at the sound of the opening 
door. As she recognized the newcomer, Simon felt her 
start beneath his hand and caught a look in her face as 
she acknowledged the young man’s greetings, which sent 
a thrill of joy through his aged frame. Then, as he 
advanced to meet Arthur, he smiled inwardly and mut¬ 
tered under his breath: “She’ll come back all right.” 

Aloud he said in his usual abrupt and curt manner: 
“Good morning, Durham, how’s the deal?” 

“Blocked!” and the young man shrugged his shoulders. 

Simon stopped as he was about to seat himself at his 
desk. 

“Blocked?” he queried sharply. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean that the Dessicated has been ahead of us.” 

“The Dessicated?” exclaimed Simon angrily. “You 
mean Gilson Gage?” 

“Well, yes, I supose so.” 

Simon eyed the young man narrowly for a moment 
and started to speak. Remembering Mary he checked 
himself and addressed her instead: 

“Was there anything you especially wanted this morn¬ 
ing?” he asked in a changed voice. 

An odd little smile spread itself over Mary’s face. 

“You said if I would come down to the office you had 
something for me.” 

“O, yes, I’d forgotten,” 


52 


MATTHEW BRENT 


He pushed the button on his desk and hastily made a 
cabalistic mark on a card, which he handed to his niece. 

“If you will give that to the cashier as you go out,” he 
said, “he will give you five hundred dollars—if that is 
enough?” he added hastily. 

Mary’s face grew pink. 

“Many times too much,” she laughed. “Mr. Durham 
will think I am a very extravagant girl.” 

“I’ll inform him to the contrary,” was the smiling reply. 
Then to the boy who answered the bell: 

“Billy, show Miss Brent out through the cashier’s office 
and ask Mr. Morris to come here.” 

Mary turned in the doorway and waved a smiling fare¬ 
well. 

“I’ll be back to take you to luncheon, Uncle!” and she 
blew him a kiss from the tips of her fingers and disap¬ 
peared. 

For just a moment a tender smile lingered on the old 
man’s lips. As it faded he turned to Durham with his 
usual crafty expression: 

“Now then,” he snapped, “about the Dessicated. What 
have they done?” 

“Secured an option on the property and doubled the 
price,” was Durham’s reply. “They must have heard 
you were after it and thought it a good chance to make 
a dollar.” 

“How could they have heard it? No one knew it but 
you.” 

Durham’s face flushed and then grew pale as he drew 
himself up proudly. 

“Your insinuation is unjust, sir,” he said, with a de¬ 
termined air, “and you ought to know it—if you don’t?” 

For several moments the old man scrutinized Durham 
through half closed eyelids, in the meantime tapping his 
desk nervously with the tip of his middle finger. 


MATTHEW BRENT 


53 


“Yes, I do know it,” he finally said: “But it’s a strange 
thing that for the past two years Gilson Gage has been 
able to anticipate enough of my intentions to have 
squeezed out of me a good sized fortune.” 

Then after a moment’s pause he continued: “But I 
shall find out some day and then—” 

Whatever he might have intended to say was interrup¬ 
ted by the entrance of Morris, who, with his closely 
chopped iron gray moustache and clean-cut features, 
little indicated the warped thoughts which had of late 
possessed him. In his hand he carried a small memo¬ 
randum book. 

“How much Dessicating Company stock have- we on 
hand?” growled Simon as soon as he observed him. 

Morris consulted his memorandum book. 

“One hundred and twelve thousand shares.” 

Simon glanced at the tape as it slowly fell from the 
ticker into the basket. 

“I see it’s offered at 1.10 and no sales. How did we 
happen to get such a load?” 

“We bought it at par. It looks good.” 

Simon again drummed on the desk with his finger. 
Then he took from his vest pocket a small memorandum 
book and ran his fingers down the pages. 

“My memorandum shows that I have loaned the Dessi- 
cated a hundred and eighty-five thousand dollars on call.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

For another second or two he tapped the desk with his 
finger and then wheeling suddenly in his chair exclaimed: 

“Call in the loan and offer to sell fifty thousand shares 
of Dessicated in lots of five hundred at ninety-eight 
cents.” 

Morris started in surprise. 

“But, Mr. Brent,” he exclaimed, “we have more money 
on hand now than we can loan and— 


54 MATTHEW BRENT 

Simon leaned forward and regarded Morris with the 
utmost surprise. 

“And what?” he snapped. 

“Such action would cripple the Dessicated. It might 
even break them. We don’t want to do that.” 

Simon’s face became livid. 

“We?” he almost shouted. “We, did you say?” How 
long have you been my partner?” 

“Why-er-why I-er I-er,” stammered Morris, taken en¬ 
tirely off his guard by this unexpected outburst. 

“And how do you know,” continued Simon without 
giving him an opportunity to speak, “that I have more 
money on hand than I can use? Since when have you 
taken to questioning my orders? Do as I tell you 
unless—unless—” 

He paused, while an expression indicative of sudden 
thought came into his eyes. 

Slowly he arose from his chair and advanced towards 
the now utterly confounded and confused Morris. 

“Unless,” he continued, “you are playing into the 
hands of Gilson Gage.” 

Morris’s face blanched and such an expression of guilt 
spread itself over his countenance that words were un¬ 
necessary. 

“That’s it! That’s itshouted Simon, “why didn’t I 
think of it before? Why didn’t I see it? You’ve been 
playing me false! You’ve been playing into the hands 
of my enemies! That’s how they learned of my plans— 
that’s—” 

“But, Mr. Brent,” began Morris. 

“Don’t speak to me! Don’t speak to me!” shrieked 
Simon. “Get out of my sight! I’ll break him, that’s what 
I’ll do! I’ll ruin him! I should have done it long ago! 
Prichard ! Prichard !” he called. “Here—” 

He took a couple of steps toward the other office, 


MATTHEW BRENT 


55 


stopped, threw both hands to the back of his head and 
fell forward to the floor. 

Durham, who had remained too utterly dumbfounded to 
speak, sprang to his assistance. 

“Summon a physician at once!” he commanded as he 
tore open Simon’s collar. “It’s the least you can do.” 

Morris started as though to obey and then stopping, 
turned swiftly. 

“Durham,” he fairly hissed, “if you ever repeat a word 
of what has just passed I’ll—” 

Durham’s head came up with a jerk. 

“Cut out the threats,” he interrupted impatiently, “and 
get a doctor at once. You can attend to me later.” 


CHAPTER VI 

S IMON Brent’s sudden collapse was a great blow to 
those of his immediate domestic and business house¬ 
hold and to the financial world. Especially was it so to 
Mary, who was thus left completely alone, thousands of 
miles from home. 

During the three days that Simon lingered the girl 
spent practically every moment at his bedside. For 
hours at a time she held his hand, while he gazed at her 
mutely as though devouring her every feature. At other 
times he would make an effort to speak; but all that ever 
could be understood were the words: 

“Matthew can do it! Matthew can do it!” 

In the business world his death caused acute financial 
conditions and a flurry in the market, which, for the 
moment, threatened most serious consequences. 

It is to the credit of Franklin Morris that the con¬ 
dition did not become worse. Durham, appreciating his 
efforts, held his peace. 

During those days Morris acted wisely and well. For 
nearly a week he was the central figure on the Street. 
Then Simon’s will was opened. 

With its reading and publication, Morris became once 
more a satellite and Mary and her grandfather the central 
luminaries. 

By the terms of Simon’s will, Mary was made his sole 
heir and Matthew sole executor. 

56 


MATTHEW BRENT 


57 


In a preliminary clause, Simon explained the purpose 
of his action in the following words: 

‘‘Although I have accumulated some wealth, my life has been a 
failure. Therefore, I do not consider myself qualified to divide 
my estate, beyond naming my grandniece, Mary Brent, my sole 
residuary legatee. I hereby appoint my brother, Matthew Brent, 
of Tonga, an Island in the South Sea, my sole executor, with 
authority to divide my estate as he may see fit,—although the 
wishes of my niece shall never be disregarded. So well do I 
know my brother, although I have not seen him for fifty years, 
that I feel he will divide and administer my estate with justice 
to all, and will honestly execute my will.” 

It is not necessary to know New York intimately to 
realize the commotion the will caused. It is only neces¬ 
sary to be familiar with the New York newspapers. 

Being unable to reach Matthew, the newspaper men 
turned their attention to Mary for information concern¬ 
ing him. She could only describe him as he appeared 
to her—a grand and noble man. 

Realizing that Mary’s opinion might be more or less 
prejudiced, the newspaper men turned their attention to 
Matthew’s books. Six or seven of them had been pub¬ 
lished during the past forty years, without attracting an 
especial attention. They formed the only connecting 
link between Matthew Brent and the world outside of 
Tonga. They were written in his leisure hours and for¬ 
warded from time to time to a firm of publishers, once 
prominent, but now little known. They had been 
published quite largely through friendship of long ago. 

From these writings some deduced that Matthew was a 
socialist; others that he was a fanatic, others that he was 
a dreamer; while still others professed to find his books 
the acme of Christian idealism. 

So varied were the opinions and so great the demand 
created by the discussions, that his publishers were taxed 
to their utmost. As for Matthew, himself, like Jonah’s 


58 


MATTHEW BRENT 


gourd, he sprang in a night from a practically unknown 
author to the pinnacle of prominence—if not popularity. 

The books were all works of fiction, written for the 
purpose of exploiting Matthew’s belief that the world was 
a place in which the Creator intended mankind to manifest 
more and more the spirit of brotherly love, and not a place 
in which to develop and manifest ambition, greed, pride 
and hatred in that ceaseless pursuit of wealth and power 
which has come to be termed business. 

“That business,” he wrote, “is most successful, in which 
the profits can be computed in kind deeds and loving 
thoughts rather than in dollars and cents.” 

These ideas seemed so impracticable and had become 
so obsolete in New York, that little wonder was expressed 
that brothers holding such opposite views of life as 
Simon and Matthew Brent should have quarreled. The 
only wonder was that Simon should have designated such 
an idealist to perform so practical and gigantic a work 
as the division and settlement of his vast estate. 

Nearly every writer of prominence undertook to ana¬ 
lyze Simon’s statement in his will, that he had been a 
failure. 

Some held that he must have considered himself a fail¬ 
ure, because he had not attained to the full eminence of 
his financial desires. 

Others decided that he considered himself a failure 
because he had been unable to gain prominence in more 
than one line of human endeavor. 

Others declared that it was because he had been unable 
to obtain the confidence of his fellowmen. Others saw in 
his last declaration an utter failure to obtain happiness. 

During all the gossip and comment, the most interest¬ 
ing speculation was concerning Matthew’s ability, after 
fifty years absence from the world, to handle the great 
financial problems of the estate. 


MATTHEW BRENT 


59 


Particularly and personally were the newspaper men 
interested in knowing what would become of the Planet , 
the great Metropolitan daily which was one of the active 
properties belonging to the Brent estate. 

“I have heard my grandfather say,” Mary told one of 
the reporters, “that he used to be a reporter on the Trib¬ 
une many years ago. I have heard him say he considered 
Horace Greeley the greatest man he ever knew.” 

This information furnished the suggestion for a good 
story; but the clue failed. It was impossible to find a 
single man among the old newspaper workers who had the 
slightest remembrance of Matthew. 

One old printer did profess to remember something 
about him and declared that Matthew was the man who 
once obtained a raise in salary, by presenting to the 
business manager a letter of dismissal given him by Gree¬ 
ley. Being unable to read Greeley’s writing, no one 
could dispute the man when he claimed it was an order for 
a raise. 

While all this was agitating the public, Mrs. Durham 
took Mary completely in charge, while Arthur was 
courtesy and kindness personified. 

Arthur Durham was a young man who believed that 
deeds, more than words, express the desires and intents 
of the heart. Instead, therefore, of protesting his love for 
the girl, he did his best to look after her affairs and safe¬ 
guard her interests. 

For several days after Simon’s death, Durham had 
considered the wisdom of telling her of the last interview 
between her uncle and Morris. Realizing, however, that 
no good could come of it, and that for the present Morris 
was a necessity, he held his peace; but he impressed upon 
Mary the great importance of bringing her grandfather 
to New York at the earliest possible moment. 

“How are we to get him here?” she asked. 


60 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“Cable him via Samoa, or some place which is near 
enough to have a vessel sent after him. Never mind the 
expense.” 

Mary shook her head. “He wouldn’t come!” she 
declared. 

“Wouldn’t come?” exclaimed Arthur in amazement. 
“Why not?” 

“He wouldn’t see any need of it.” 

“Then what are we to do?” 

Again Mary shook her head. It was altogether too 
big a problem for her. 

For two weeks Durham cudgeled his brain. He was 
thinking of nothing but Mary and how she should be 
protected. He knew he loved her. He wondered if she 
loved him. 

As he pondered thus, an idea came to him which he 
considered in the light of an inspiration. Trembling with 
alternate hope and fear he hastened to communicate it 
to her. 

“Why can’t we go down and bring your grandfather 
back to New York just as Uncle Simon had planned?” 
he suggested. “The Arethusa is ready, and it is the 
quickest way I can think of.” 

The suggestion met Mary’s instant approval. 

“Can we really do it?” she asked. “Can we go and 
get Daddy all by ourselves?” 

“There is absolutely no reason why not,” he replied 
in the most matter-of-fact manner. “We can be married 
tomorrow morning and leave for Tonga tomorrow after¬ 
noon on our wedding trip.” 

Mary fairly gasped with surprise. “Our wedding trip? 
Why, Arthur! You’ve never even proposed.” 

“Well, I’m doing it now,” he said. “It may not be the 
regular way, but it’s my way. I’d have proposed long 
ago, but I didn’t know how Mp. Brent would take it. 


MATTHEW BRENT 


61 


Since he’s left you all this wealth, I’ve been afraid you 
might think I was just after the money and so I haven’t 
dared to say anything. Now something has got to be 
done. What do you say?” 

He drew close to her and regarded her tenderly. “You 
know I love you,” he added, as she hesitated to reply. 

“Do you, really?” she asked under her breath, and the 
happiness of her life hung on his answer. “Do you really 
love me, Arthur?” 

For just a moment he hesitated—the question seemed 
go absurd. 

“Do I really?” he finally managed to articulate as 
he seized both her hands. “Is it possible after one look 
at yourself in the mirror, that you should doubt that 
any one could help loving you?” 

“I don’t want to be loved just for my face,” she de¬ 
clared emphatically, “I want to be loved for my real self.” 

Durham’s face expressed the most unbounded surprise. 

“Your real self?” he ejaculated. “Well, isn’t it your 
real self I’m talking about?” 

“Of course not. I can’t see my real self in the mirror.” 

“Of course not,” he admitted a bit crestfallen. Then 
suddenly: “But I can see your real self in your eyes, your 
smile, your every word and look, and I know I love you. 
And—and—,” he stammered as he held her at arms 
length and regarded her earnestly, “and you love me! 
Now don’t you?” 

She could deny no longer. For repty she hid her face 
on his shoulder, while he softly kissed her shining hair. 

“And you’ll marry me in the morning?” he queried. 

“Isn’t there some other way?” she faintly asked, look¬ 
ing up at him shyly. “I—I couldn’t marry anybody with¬ 
out Daddy’s consent.” 

Durham paused and scratched his head reflectively. 

“I hadn’t thought of Daddy,” he finally said. “I’d only 


62 


MATTHEW BRENT 


been thinking of Uncle Simon.” Then after a longer 
pause: “But how are we to get Daddy’s consent until 
we see him? It doesn’t look exactly proper to take so 
long a trip without first being married.” 

“Perhaps your mother might think of a way. She 
always seems to know the right thing to do.” 

For want of a better suggestion the matter was re¬ 
ferred to Mrs. Durham. 

“Why, my dear,” she exclaimed taking the girl in her 
arms with more warmth than she had ever expressed 
toward any human being except her son, “the solution 
of your problem is easy. I’ll go along.” 

“What?” exclaimed Durham in the utmost surprise. 
You’ll go along? You’ll go to the cannibal islands?” 

“Why not?” 

“It will take more than three months.” 

“The longer the better!” declared Mrs. Durham. “I 
really need to get away from New York after all this 
excitement. I’ve had a strenuous time,” and then to 
herself she added; “it will give my income time to catch 
up with my expenses.” 

Three day’s later, without telling any one except 
Simon’s attorney, Judge Everett, they left New York 
upon their uncertain mission. 

“For it is uncertain,” Mary declared, “and we shall 
have to be very wise or we shall fail. You don’t know 
Daddy.” 


CHAPTER VII 


I T IS the other side of the world. The sun, which has 
just risen out of the Pacific, sheds its rays over a 
scene of tropical splendor and beauty. It is Matthew 
Brent’s home on the Isle of Tonga. 

To one unfamiliar with such scenery, nothing could 
be more entrancing than this bit of landscape in the 
middle of the South Sea. It is typically tropical; but 
just enough of the Northland has been introduced into 
the picture to make it a fit home for one whose early 
training had been among civilized people. Aside from 
this artificial bit, however, everything partakes of South 
Sea savagery. 

The house is little more than a bamboo hut, except 
for the broad porches which surround it and give it the 
appearance of an East Indian bungalow. From these 
porches glimpses of the glistening waters of the Pacific 
may be caught through the luxuriant foliage. The air 
is full of the music of song-birds and the scent of 
flowers—not tropical flowers, bereft of perfume—but 
English roses, which have been transplanted into this 
alien, but gracious climate. 

Seen through the trees, out on the waters of the little 
bay which form the Island harbor, a steam yacht rides 
at anchor—a yacht of such ample proportions as to 
partake almost of the character of an ocean liner. So 
unusual is its appearance that it has attracted to the 
shore not only the owner of the bungalow, but a goodly 


64 


MATTHEAV BRENT 


portion of the population as well—leaving the residence 
in the charge of a man-servant. 

That this servant would, likewise, rather be at the 
shore than engaged in his present occupation, is evidenced 
by the frequent glances he casts as he arranges the 
breakfast table on the broad veranda. In fact, so ab¬ 
sorbed is he in the yacht that he is totally unaware of 
the approach of another native—who carries upon his 
head a large basket of fruit—until the latter sets the 
basket upon the porch remarking: 

“For the good father, Tippo-Tib.” 

The servant thus addressed turned at the sound of the 
speaker’s voice and bent over the basket with pleasure. 

“Tunas,” he exclaimed as he picked up a fine specimen 
from the basket; “and plums, too; the first of the season. 
Oh, but the father will be pleased!” 

“Do you think so, Tippo-Tib? Then Alfa is glad.” 
He motioned to another native who stood in the distance 
with a basket of flowers in his hand. “But where is the 
father?” 

“Down by the water, waiting for Her.” 

“Waiting for Her?” exclaimed the native jumping up 
and down and dropping the fruit which he had begun to 
remove from the basket.. “Is Her coming in that boat?” 

Tippo-Tib nodded his head, at which the native became 
even more excited, jumping up on the porch and looking 
off toward the water. 

“Hi! Hi!” he called out in a shrill voice. “I can see 
the little puff, puff, and the people in it.” 

The announcement was received with much excitement. 

“Where has Her been, Tippo-Tib?” queried Alfa. 

“To the great foreign city beyond the water.” 

“Has Her come back to stay?” 

“We hope so.” 

Alfa drew a deep sigh. “Her has been gone a long 


MATTHEW BRENT 


65 


time,” he said, “and the good father has missed her much.” 
His face brightened, “Now that Her has come home, the 
good father will laugh, will he not, Tippo-Tib?” 

“Yes, yes,” was the reply. “And we must hurry to 
have the breakfast ready.” 

Tippo-Tib hastened into the house, but returned almost 
immediately as a great shout was heard from the shore. 

“The people all see her!” he exclaimed as he jumped 
onto a chair. “Yes,” and he picked up an old-fashioned 
telescope which lay on the table and put it to his eye, 
“and Tippo-Tib sees her, too.” 

The information was more than the other Islanders 
could bear and they rushed off in great haste so as to be 
on the beach when the little party should land. 

If there had been excitement at the bungalow, it was 
a hundred times greater on the shore—for there were a 
hundred times as many to cause it. 

Chief among them was Matthew Brent himself. 

Bareheaded, Matthew stood at the end of a little pier, 
slowly waving his hat as the launch approached. Clad 
in white, with his long white hair and beard blowing in 
the wind, he was, indeed, a remarkable figure; and so 
thought Durham, as from the launch, he inspected him 
with his marine glasses. 

News of the arrival of the Arethusa and the identity of 
those on board had been brought to Matthew at daylight 
by a native, who had discovered the yacht in the first 
gray dawn and had swum out to it—or at least near 
enough to catch a glimpse of Mary pacing back and 
forth on deck. 

She had been up since midnight awaiting the first 
sight of Tonga. 

No sooner had the native recognized her than he had 
hurried back to shore with the information. 

Then, for the first time in forty-five years, Matthew 


66 


MATTHEW BRENT 


Brent lost his self-possession. He shouted for Tippo-Tib 
and aroused the entire village. Hastily dressing himself, 
he hurried to the water’s edge, followed by practically 
the whole population. 

Mary espied him just as soon as he made his appear¬ 
ance and could hardly wait until the launch was lowered. 

“There’s Daddy! There’s Daddy!” she exclaimed as 
Arthur and Mrs. Durham joined her on deck. “Let me 
get a good look at him.” 

She took the glasses from Durham’s hands and gazed 
long and earnestly. “Oh, isn’t he grand!” she cried. 

Arthur reached for the glasses. “I’ll tell you better 
after I get a good look at him,” he laughed. Then after 
a pause: “He doesn’t look much like Uncle Simon.” 

“No, indeed,” laughed Mary. “But he acts like him.” 

“Only different,” suggested Durham. “He looks 
rather severe.” 

Mary drew a long breath. “I believe he is,” she 
admitted after a moment, “I’d forgotten it until I saw 
him. I—I don’t think I’ll tell him about you until he 
gets acquainted with you.” 

“About me? What do you mean?” 

“Why—why, about our engagement.” 

Again Durham inspected Matthew through the glasses. 

“I think that would be a good idea,” he finally ac- 
quiesed, “Don’t you, mother?” 

“Don’t ask me,” replied Mrs. Durham sharply. “I 
have learned since we started on this voyage not to give 
advice to any one.” 

In explanation of which remark it may be stated that 
Mrs. Durham had in the beginning attempted to manage 
the ship and all aboard, and had not succeeded. 

As the launch neared the shore, it met a number of the 
natives swimming out. As it drew still nearer the occu¬ 
pants could see more distinctly the crowd on the beach. 


MATTHEW BRENT 


67 

“It looks as though the entire population had turned 
out to meet you,” said Durham to Mary. 

“What would you expect?” she laughed. “Ila-Ila and 
I are the greatest attraction that could be offered, aren’t 
we, Ila-Ila?” 

Before she could reply the launch glided up beside the 
frail wooden pier. Without waiting for it to be made 
fast, Mary sprang ashore and threw her arms about her 
grandfather’s neck. 

“Daddy! Daddy!” she cried as she rushed into his out¬ 
stretched arms. “How good it is to see you.” 

“Not as good as it is to see you,” declared Matthew 
as he pressed the girl closely to his breast. “It seemed 
as though you would never return,” and there was a note 
of pathos in his voice. 

For several moments the pair stood thus, completely 
absorbed in each other. Then, as Matthew noted that the 
others had landed, he assumed a more dignified air. 

“To whom am I indebted for your homecoming?” he 
asked. 

“To these dear friends,” laughing joyously and turn¬ 
ing to Durham and his mother. “I had almost forgotten 
them in my selfish pleasure. This is Captain Durham of 
the Arethusa, and this,” indicating Mrs. Durham, “is 
his mother. They have both been so kind to me.” 

“The kindness is all on your granddaughter’s side,” 
declared Durham quickly. “It has been a great pleasure 
to serve her, I can assure you.” 

Matthew bowed gravely with old-time courtesy. 

“I am under great obligations to you, Captain Dur¬ 
ham; and to you, also, Madam, for bringing my grand¬ 
daughter home. Permit me to extend to you the hospitality 
of my humble home while you remain in port.” 

Then turning to the gaping natives, he cried: “Away 
with you. Tell Tippo-Tib we are coming.” 


68 


MATTHEW BRENT 


The natives fairly fell over one another in their eager¬ 
ness to obey, and scampered away as fast as their legs 
would carry them. The others followed more slowly. 

Appreciating that Mary and her grandfather would 
doubtless like to be alone, Durham lingered behind on a 
pretense of looking after the launch. Mrs. Durham fol¬ 
lowed Ila-Ua who walked rapidly in advance. 

After greeting Tippo-Tib, Ila-Ila led Mrs. Durham 
still further toward the village, telling Tippo-Tib that 
they would return shortly. 

As Mary and Matthew came in sight of the house and 
its little garden, Mary stopped and impulsively ex¬ 
claimed : “Oh, Daddy, isn’t it beautiful!” 

“Yes,” replied her grandfather with a slight twinkle 
in his eye, “for the first time in twenty months.” 

“Twenty months?” queried Mary in surprise. 

“Yes, it is exactly twenty months since you went away.” 

“Daddy, you don’t mean it! Is it as long as that? It 
doesn’t seem so.” 

“Not to you; but it seems twice as long to me. All 
the forty odd years I have lived here did not seem one 
half as long as the shortest day you were away.” Then 
as he held her out at arms length and took a good look 
at her. “But it’s all over now. You are back again, and 
it is paradise.” 

A step on the gravel caused him to turn as Durham 
approached. 

“Excuse me, Captain,” he said, “but being a sailor you 
know how good it seems to see one’s children after a 
voyage.” 

Durham’s face grew red as he replied in a confused 
manner—a manner made more confusing by Mary’s 
laughter. “Oh, yes! oh, yes! I know all about it!” but 
as he turned toward the house he shook his finger at 
Mary as much as to say; “Wait until I get you alone.” 


MATTHEW BRENT 


69 


“Now for breakfast!” exclaimed Matthew as the trio 
ascended the porch. “Why, where is your mother, 
Captain?” as he noted for the first time the absence of 
Mrs. Durham. 

“I am sure I don’t know.” 

“She has gone to the village with Ila-Ila,” explained 
Tippo-Tib. “She said not to wait.” 

“That’s too bad,” said Matthew. “Her cocoa will get 
cold.” 

“Oh, she won’t mind that!” declared Durham apologet¬ 
ically. “I think she prefers it cold. At any rate I am 
sure she wouldn’t wish us to wait. She may be here any 
moment.” 

“Yes,” declared Mary, as she patted the servant on 
the shoulder, “and I know Tippo-Tib has plenty of hot 
cocoa in the kitchen.” 

Tippo-Tib’s face beamed with joy, and without more 
words they took their places at the table—Matthew 
waving Durham to a seat with stately courtesy, while 
the natives peeped around the corner of the porch in 
joyous excitement. 

“This is not quite as elegant as your stately ship, 
Captain,” began Matthew, “but—” 

“But a thousand times more beautiful!” interrupted 
Mary. 

Durham looked at her admiringly. “It seems like 
heaven to me,” he said. 

“If heaven is a place where all is harmony,” said 
Matthew not catching the drift of Durham’s remarks, 
“this cannot be so very far from heaven,” adding as he 
made an attack upon the appetizing dish which Tippo- 
Tib had just set before him: “Not much like New York, 
Captain?” 

“Well, hardly,” replied Durham, “New York seems a 
bit nearer the other place.” 


TO 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“That isn’t exactly what I meant,” replied Matthew 
with a laugh. “I meant in appearance. I suppose you 
are well acquainted in New York?” 

“Acquainted?” exclaimed Durham impetuously. “Well, 
I should say so. I was born there. Lived there all my 
life.” Then as he caught a surprised look on Matthew’s 
face he continued with some confusion: “I mean when I 
am not at sea. Of course when I am at sea—when I am 
at sea—why I am at sea—you see!” 

“Oh, yes, I see,” replied Matthew not noticing the young 
man’s embarrassment. 

“Which is more than the Captain does I am afraid,” 
said Mary suppressing her laughter. 

Eor some moments there was silence, while Durham sav¬ 
agely attacked his breakfast and gathered his wits about 
him. At length he remarked in a casual manner: 

“Of course you remember New York, Mr. Brent?” 

“Oh, yes, I worked on the Tribune fifty years ago—” 
pronouncing it as though it were spelled “Try” “—Hor¬ 
ace Greeley’s paper, you know. Great man, Greeley. 
Ever meet him?” 

“Why, Daddy!” exclaimed Mary. “Of course not. He 
is too young.” 

Matthew leaned back in his chair and laughed silently. 

“Of course, of course,” he said. “Time slips away 
unnoticed on this side of the world. I heard that Greeley 
died some years after I left America.” 

“I believe so,” replied Durham, “but it was before my 
day. Let’s see, he ran for president once, didn’t he?” 

“So I heard,” replied Matthew. “Poor old man! They 
tell me, it was his defeat that killed him. Few men can 
stand such disappointment,” and he shook his head 
gravely. 

“Still there are a few,” laughed Durham. “We have 
one who has grown fat on it. He doesn’t mind.” 


MATTHEW BRENT 


71 


“You don’t tell me. Well! Well! things have changed!” 

Then suddenly, “I don’t suppose I’d know New York.” 

“Oh, you can keep pretty close tab on it by the papers. 
You get the papers, I suppose?” 

“Not often, Captain. Once or twice a year; but that’s 
often enough. I did try to keep up with the world the 
first five or six years after I came here; but I gradually 
lost interest in it. I rarely see a newspaper or magazine 
now.” 

“Great Scott!” exclaimed Durham in amazement. 
“What do you read?” 

“Well,” replied Matthew slowly, “I’ve cut my reading 
down to two books—Shakespeare and the Bible. They 
contain about all there is in life. The one is written from 
the material, the other from the spiritual viewpoint.” 

“But Daddy writes a great deal himself, you know,” 
explained Mary. 

“Then he’ll like New York all right,” declared Durham 
emphatically, as he glanced knowingly at Mary. 

Matthew shook his head sadly. 

“I never expect to see New York again; but I thought 
Mary should see something of the world. That is why I 
sent her to visit Simon. I knew she would like it.” 

“Oh, I loved it!” cried Mary. Then as she thought of 
the mission that brought her to Tonga: “But Daddy, you 
will be so sorry that Uncle Simon—” 

“Nothing that you can tell me about Simon will sur¬ 
prise me,” interrupted her grandfather. “Naturally 
New York pleased you for you are young, while I am old:” 

“Why, Daddy!” 

“Onty in years, Mary! Not in body. I feel as young 
as I did the day I landed on this Island forty-seven years 
ago.” 

Then as he lapsed into a reminiscent mood: “I shall 
never forget that day. There was just your father and 


72 


MATTHEW BRENT 


I, Mary. He was a tot of three and I was—well, never 
mind how old I was— but we were chums anyway. Yes, 
indeed, we were such chums.” 

“Just as you and I are, Daddy, and I am twenty and 
you are—why, Daddy,” exclaimed Mary as she paused 
to think, “you are seventy-five and as active as many 
New York men of fifty. Isn’t he, Captain?” 

“Sure,” from Durham. Then noticing Matthew’s rem¬ 
iniscent mood, he asked, more for the sake of something 
to say than because he did not know the story: “How 
did you come to leave New York, Mr. Brent?” 

Matthew pushed his chair back from the table and 
gazed for a few moments toward the broad Pacific. 

“It is a long story, Captain,” he finally said, “but 
quickly told. I was a newspaper man, a writer—news¬ 
paper men were writers in those days, you know.” 

“So I have heard.” 

“Yes, they were; and they knew a little of most every¬ 
thing. Well, I wrote a book. Oh, not much of a book at 
that; but it contained a good many things that seemed 
right to me. 

“I never could understand,” and the old gentleman be¬ 
came just a little emphatic, “why one half of the world 
should get rich off of the other half. Yet it does, so to 
speak—and in this book I said so.” 

He looked at Durham as though expecting an opinion. 

“That sounds all right to me,” was Durham’s some¬ 
what uncertain comment. 

“Sounds right!” exclaimed Matthew straightening up 
in his chair, “Sounds right!” and he pounded on the 
table vigorously. “It is right; but Simon didn’t agree 
with me.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because he was getting rich off the other people.” 

Then his mood changed: “But that’s passed now. 


MATTHEW BRENT 


73 


Naturally, however, the book caused some talk—almost 
any book will find some readers, you know, no matter 
how bad it is,” and Matthew chuckled softly to himself. 

“I am sure yours was very good, sir!” declared Dur¬ 
ham graciously. 

“It is,” said Mary. “I have read it.” 

“What?” exclaimed Matthew in surprise. “You have 
read it? Where?” 

“At Uncle Simon’s. He’s had all of your books. He 
said they were the best books he had ever read.” 

Matthew leaned over the table towards Mary and looked 
her earnestely in the face. 

“Did Simon say that?” 

Mary nodded her head. 

“You don’t tell me! Well! Well! Well! It was over 
that book, Captain, that Simon and I quarreled. He said 
I was a dreamer and would die in the poorhouse. I told 
him he was a—you will excuse me, Captain, if I do not 
repeat what I told him. It would be unkind and I am 
sorry now that I said it.” Then with a deep sigh: “Simon 
must have a heart after all.” 

“Indeed you are right, Daddy! And now to think you 
will never see him—” 

“No, it is better that we should not meet,” interrupted 
Matthew. “I never expect to go where he is and he will 
not come—” 

“I am sure he is in a good place,” declared Mary 
emphatically. 

“For him, yes,” replied Matthew positively; “but not 
for me. But I am glad he has a heart!” 

“I am sure of that,” said Durham earnestly, “although 
I have heard people say that Simon Brent was a hard 
man. They are quite apt to say that about any man 
who has made a large fortune.” 

“I suppose so,” assented Matthew. “Down here in 


74 


MATTHEW BRENT 


Tonga they have no occasion to criticise, for no one has 
a large fortune. That is as it should be. It makes this 
just the kind of a spot I told Simon New York should 
be.” 

“What?” exclaimed Durham. “New York like this? 
Excuse me!” 

“Well, it should be,” insisted Matthew, “and would be 
if men would stop fighting each other and do something 
for each other instead.” 

Durham nodded his head slowly. 

“If they only would, Mr. Brent; but they won’t!” 

“That’s just what Simon said. I replied that they 
must be taught to. He said it was impossible, and we 
parted in anger. Then I came here, where I have found 
the ideal life. There are no rich and so there are no 
poor. No one goes hungry and no one is so rich that 
he can live without working. There is no idle class, either 
from a lack of opportunity, or lack of incentive to work. 
We are one great family in which the elders are the 
mothers and fathers, and the younger are the sons and 
daughters.” 

Durham whistled softly under his breath. “You don’t 
tell me,” he said. Then aside to Mary: “Can you beat 
it ?” 

“It is just as I told Simon,” Matthew rambled on. 
“There is no poverty because no one grows rich off of the 
industry of others. It is the ideal life,” and he looked 
around at the scene with an expression of the most perfect 
tranquillity. 

“It is beautiful, but it looks pretty tame to me,” said 
Durham. 

“Tame?” exclaimed the old man bending upon his com¬ 
panion a look akin to disgust. “Tame!” and he waved 
his hands toward the broad Pacific. “Tame, with all the 
birds, and the flowers and the sunshine! Tame, with the 


MATTHEW BRENT 


75 


melodious voices of nature ever ringing in your ears! 
Tame! Why it is the grand symphony of the universe, 
inspiring one as it did the prophets of old with the great 
mind in which is all the wisdom of the ages.” 

For several moments he remained buried in thought, 
gazing out into his little world. 

“I think you ought to tell him now!” suggested Dur¬ 
ham to Mary in an undertone, having in mind the 
announcement of their engagement. 

“Oh, I can’t!” exclaimed Mary, thinking that Durham 
referred to her uncle’s death. “You will have to.” 

“I would rather wait until I am better acquainted,” 
declared Durham a bit sharply. 

Mary’s eyes grew sad. “Very well then, I know he 
must be told—I know it is my duty to tell him, although 
I know it will cause him great sorrow.” 

“Sorrow!” exclaimed Arthur under his breath. “How 
can it cause him sorrow?” and he looked at her incred- 
uously as she slowly rose to her feet and laid her hands 
on her grandfather’s shoulders. 

“What is it, child ?” queried Matthew, turning at 
Mary’s touch. 

“I have something to tell you, Daddy, which I fear will 
make you very sad.” 

“That’s a fine way to announce our engagement,” 
thought Durham as he sprang to his feet. Aloud to Mary 
he said: “I think after all you had better let me tell your 
grandfather.” 

Matthew regarded them in a puzzled manner, but said 
nothing, as Durham began in a hesitating manner: 

“I am sure your granddaughter is much mistaken. I 
think what she has to tell you will make you happy 
instead of sad. She—” 

“Arthur!” interrupted Mary, “how can it make grand¬ 
father happy to hear that Uncle Simon is—” 


76 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“Uncle Simon?” exclaimed Durham in astonishment. 
Then in an undertone as he resumed his seat: “I thought 
you were trying to tell him about our engagement,” and 
the young man hid his face in his cup. 

The color came to Mary’s face as she exclaimed 
hastily: “That is all you think about, Arthur. How can 
you be so thoughtless?” Then to her grandfather. 
“Daddy the Captain has made a mistake. It is—” 

“He is not the only one who makes mistakes,” inter¬ 
rupted Matthew smiling. “We all make them. The great 
thing is to be willing to rectify them—willing to do the 
right thing. The will to do right, you know, is the will 
of God. But,” and he took Mary’s hand, “what is the 
great secret?” 

Summoning all her courage, Mary started to reply, 
but her words were drowned by screams uttered in a 
woman’s voice only a few feet away. 


CHAPTER VIII 


W HAT’S that!” exclaimed Durham as the scream 
was repeated. “It sounds like mother!” and 
he sprang from the porch followed by Mary. 

“Some of the young women playing, I guess,” re¬ 
marked Matthew calmly. 

“I am afraid something has happened!” insisted Dur¬ 
ham as he and Mary stopped to listen. 

“Nothing ever happens here,” was Mary’s reassuring 
reply. “Don’t be alarmed.” 

Again there was a scream, whereupon Tippo-Tib 
hastily rushed into the surrounding grove and quickly 
returned, followed by a party of natives, who held in 
their midst a struggling man clad in sailor’s garb. After 
them came Mrs. Durham and Ila-Ila, the latter supported 
by several native women who were trying to staunch the 
blood which flowed from a wound in her arm. 

Durham leaped quickly to his mother’s side, while 
Mary assisted the women to place Ila-Ila on a rustic 
bench, where a green leaf was picked from the thick veg¬ 
etation and bound about her arm. 

“What is it, mother?” asked Durham in alarm. 
“Everything! Everything!” was the hysterical reply. 
“That man tried to kill us.” 

“Impossible!” exclaimed Matthew sternly as he 
slowly descended from the porch. “No one does such 
things here.” 

Mrs. Durham turned upon him a look of anger and 
77 


78 


MATTHEW BRENT 


scorn. “It is not impossible. Look at that poor girl!” 
pointing her finger to Ila-Ila. 

“It must have been an accident,” declared Matthew. 

“Yes, yes, it was an accident,” exclaimed the man with 
a strong Portuguese accent. “It was an accident. It 
was an accident, senhor.” 

“Wretch!” cried Mrs. Durham. “Don’t you dare add 
falsehood to your other crimes.” 

The man became quiet, but looked pleadingly at 
Matthew, who regarded him sternly. 

“How did it happen, mother?” asked Durham. 

“I can hardly tell. It was so unexpected. All I know 
is that we were walking down the pathway, when this man 
jumped from the thicket and tried to tear the brooch 
from my throat. Ila-Ila came to my rescue and he 
struck her with his knife.” 

“The cur!” exclaimed Durham springing toward the 
man. “I will strangle him.” 

“No, no, Arthur,” seizing her son by the arm, “he 
might kill you.” 

“No violence, Captain!” commanded Matthew sternly. 
“Two wrongs never make a right.” 

Pushing his mother aside, Durham made another dash 
for the man. Before he could reach him he was con¬ 
fronted by Tippo-Tib, who, raising his hand with a 
threatening gesture exclaimed: “Stop! Listen to the 
father!” 

For a moment it seemed as though Durham would not 
obey; but his better judgment prevailed and he stood 
quietly, as Matthew said to the thoroughly frightened 
sailor: 

“Stand forth!” 

At this command the natives released their hold upon 
the captive. 

He no sooner felt himself free than he started to run; 


MATTHEW BRENT 79 

but before he could take three steps Matthew was upon 
him and forced him to his knees. 

“You need not try to escape,” he exclaimed. “It would 
be useless.” Then as he lifted the sailor to his feet and 
released his hold: “What have you to say for yourself?” 

“I was hungry.” 

“No one need go hungry in Tonga. You could have 
had plenty for the asking.” 

“I was afraid to ask. I have run away from the ship.” 

“Why have you run away from the ship?” 

The man stood silent, evidently afraid to speak. 

“Answer!” commanded Matthew. “Why have you run 
away from the ship?” 

“My brother, senhor!” exclaimed the man tfirowing 
himself at Matthew’s feet. “My brother he was seek. He 
could not work. They mak’ him work. He got seeker 
and seeker and pretty soon he die, and they throw him 
in the sea. I tell the mate he keel my brother! Yes—keel 
him ! Then I mak’ a stab at the mate with the knife. The 
mate he knock me down and tie me to the mast. He would 
have keeled me like my brother—but I run away.” 

“Because your brother died, is no reason why you 
should try to kill the mate. If he did wrong he will be 
punished.” 

“No, no,” replied the sailor springing to his feet in 
great excitement, “he will not be punished. There is no 
one to punish him.” 

“Silence!” thundered Matthew. “Do you not know that 
no one can do wrong and escape punishment? Just as 
surely as the man who violates the law of mathematics 
suffers in working out his problem, just so surely must the 
man who violates the law of God—the law of love—suffer 
in working out the great problem of life. The punishment 
is fixed in both cases, just as the punishment is fixed in 
yours.” 


80 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“No, no, senhor!” exclaimed the sailor again throwing 
himself at Matthew’s feet, “I have been punished 
already.” 

Matthew looked sternly, but compassionately upon the 
prostrate seaman as he said in a voice of calm decision: 

“The fear which at this moment possesses you is greater 
than any punishment man can inflict. Until restitution is 
made that fear will haunt you. I would not change your 
punishment if I could and I could not if I would.” 

Then turning to Tippo-Tib: “Feed him and let him 

go” 

During this most unusual scene, perfect silence had 
prevailed. Not a word had been spoken by any of the 
natives, while Mrs. Durham and her son had been too 
much amazed at the proceedings to offer any suggestions. 
Now that she saw the sentence imposed was about to be 
carried into effect without question on the part of Tippo- 
Tib and the others, Mrs. Durham exclaimed in an angry 
tone: 

“Preposterous! See what he did to that poor girl. I 
will not permit him to be set free!” 

Matthew turned upon her a cold and searching look, 
but made no reply. 

“Is that the only punishment you intend to inflict?” 
inquired Mrs. Durham stepping forward. 

Regarding her gravely, Matthew asked: “Can you 
conceive of a greater?” 

“Yes, indeed,” said Mrs. Durham, “and I demand—” 

“Demand!” exclaimed Matthew interrupting her. 
“Demand? We recognize no demands here. We are 
satisfied to leave him to his own thoughts, knowing that 
through his suffering he will be chastened.” 

Then turning again to Tippo-Tib, he said calmly: “Do 
as I bid. I am sure Ua-Ila is satisfied.” 

“Yes, indeed, Father,” replied the girl rising to her feet 


MATTHEW BRENT 


81 


as the natives led the sailor away. “It is but a scratch 
and I am sure he will never do such a thing again.” Then 
to Mrs. Durham: “If Madam will come inside I will give 
her some cocoa.” 

For just a moment Mrs. Durham stood silent, too much 
amazed by the proceedings to say anything. Then she 
broke into words: 

“You are all crazy!” she cried. “All of you! And that 
old man—” pointing her finger at Matthew—“why Simon 
Brent was an angel compared to him. I won’t stay herel 
I won’t—” 

“There, there, mother,” said Durham soothingly, 
“don’t take it so to heart.” 

“No, Mrs. Durham, don’t let it disturb you,” urged 
Mary coming to the rescue. “Please go in and have some 
breakfast.” Then to Durham: “Captain, please take 
her in. I want to give Daddy Uncle Simon’s message.” 

Without further words Mrs. Durham suffered her son 
to lead her into the house; but on the porch she could not 
refrain from looking back and expressing her disapproval 
at the entire proceeding by a contemptuous snort and 
shake of her head. 

For several moments Matthew stood gazing after her 
with a thoughtful expression on his face. At length turn¬ 
ing to Mary he asked: 

“Who is that woman, Mary?” 

“Why,” in surprise, “that is Captain Durham’s 
mother.” 

“Yes, I know, but that doesn’t answer the question. 
There is something about her I don’t like. She stirs me 
all up inside.” Then suddenly: “I wonder if she’s a 
widow?” 

“Yes, sir, she is.” 

“That’s it,” ejaculated Matthew. “That’s it. It’s her 
widow ways. But because she ran over one man she can’t 


82 


MATTHEW BRENT 


run over me. No, sir! No, sir!” and the old man shook 
his head vigorously. 

“There, there, Daddy,” and Mary laid her head on his 
arm. “Don’t get excited. Come and sit down. I have 
something I want to tell yon—a message from Uncle 
Simon.” 

“A message from Simon?” 

Slowly they crossed the little yard and Matthew seated 
himself upon one of the rustic benches, where he could 
gaze out upon the water. 

“A message from Simon!” he repeated more to himself 
than to Mary. “A message from Simon! It is the first 
message I have had from him since we parted.” 

“Yes,” replied Mary as she sank down upon the grass 
at his feet. “It is the first time he ever had a messenger.” 

“Especially such a messenger,” and the old man laid his 
hand tenderly upon Mary’s head. “And was he glad to 
see you—for my sake?” 

“No one could have been more kind. Every request you 
made was granted, and he showed us everything there was 
to be seen—anywhere.” 

“My! My!” exclaimed Matthew in surprise. “I did’nt 
know he could leave his business so long.” 

“Oh, he didn’t go much himself,” explained Mary 
quickly, but he gave me an automobile—” 

“An automobile,” interrupted Matthew, “and what’s 
an automobile?” 

“Oh, I forgot,” explained Mary, “that you don’t know 
all about these things. An automobile is a horseless 
carriage.” 

Matthew looked at her in a puzzled manner. 

“A carriage without horses? And will it go?” 

“Oh, yes, Daddy, almost as fast as a railroad train.” 

Matthew slowly straightened himself up and looked at 
the girl gravely. 


MATTHEW BRENT 


83 


“Mary,” lie began, “You have always been a truthful 
girl. I have never known you to tell a lie; but don’t tell 
me things like that and expect me to believe them.” 

“Daddy! Daddy! I am telling you the real truth. They 
are more common in the streets of New York than 
horses.” 

Matthew slowly shook his head as he gazed out over the 
waters. 

“If you say this is the truth, Mary,” he finally said, “I 
shall have to believe you; but I don’t understand it. 
What makes them go?” 

“Electricty and gasoline. Everything’s electricity and 
gasoline now-a-days; but I can’t explain it. Some day you 
will see them. Oh, yes, you will,” she insisted as Matthew 
continued to shake his head. “Oh, yes, you will! And 
besides the automobile, Uncle Simon owned I don’t know 
how many railroads! He gave us a special car to go 
anywhere we wished.” 

This information brought Matthew to his feet. 

“A special car!” he exclaimed in his excitement. “Do 
you mean to say Simon Brent has a railroad and a special 
car all his own?” 

“Yes, Daddy, he had,” replied Mary again drawing him 
to his seat. “A special car and a special everything— 
everything that money could buy—railroads, mines, 
factories, a great newspaper, that beautiful yacht out 
yonder and—and—,” Mary paused and her voice grew 
sad and full of tears, “and now. Daddy, they are all 
mine—the railroads, the banks, the factories, the yacht 
and I don’t know what else. They are all mine.” 

Overcome by her emotion she buried her face on her 
grandfather’s knee and wept. 

For several moments Matthew regarded her silently as 
he slowly stroked her golden head. 

“Yours, child? Yours? What are you saying?” 


84 


MATTHEW BRENT 


Slowly the girl raised her eyes to his and looked 
earnestly into his face. 

“Yes, Daddy, mine—and yours; for whatever is mine is 
yours.” 

“But, Mary, I don’t understand!” 

For just a moment there was silence and then Mary 
said in a sweet voice: 

“Daddy, Uncle Simon is dead.” 

Again there was silence, while down the old man’s cheeks 
tears slowly found their way—the first tears he had shed 
in years. 

“Dead!” he repeated under his breath. “Dead! Simon 
dead!” 

“Yes, Daddy, and he has left all of his great fortune to 
me.” 

If Matthew heard what she said he gave no intimation 
of it for several moments. Then, as the girl reached up 
and placed her hand on his shoulder, he repeated over to 
himself as he looked into her face: 

“Dead! Simon dead! And he has left you all his great 
wealth! Poor Simon! Poor Mary!” 

“But I am not poor, Daddy!” exclaimed Mary putting 
both arms about his neck and laying her soft cheek 
against his face, “I am not poor. I still have you; and 
as long as I have you I am rich—richer than all Uncle 
Simon’s money could make me.” 

Gradually the look of sadness faded from Matthew’s 
face and, as he dried his tears with one hand, he patted 
her shoulder with the other murmuring: 

“There! There! Don’t cry!” 

“I can’t help it, Daddy! Next to you I loved Uncle 
Simon. You don’t know how he changed after I went to 
him. He was so sorry he had quarreled with you. All the 
stories you sent back he had beautifully bound and kept 
them in his private office. Finally he bought that beautiful 


MATTHEW BEENT 


85 


yacht out there and was coming to see you; but it was too 
late!” and the girl hid her face on her grandfather’s knee. 

Matthew slowly nodded his head several times, as was 
his wont when thinking deeply. 

“So he has left his whole estate to you?” 

“He didn’t leave a thing to any one else,” replied Mary 
.impulsively, “Because—” and Mary paused thinking how 
best to broach the subject. 

“Yes,” said Matthew expectantly, “because—” 

“Because,” declared Mary, “he said you could divide it 
more justly than he.” 

Matthew started in the greatest surprise. 

“What’s that? I—I divide his estate! No, no, child, I 
am not fitted for any such work. I have been out of the 
world too long.” 

“Nonsense!” declared Mary emphatically. “I can see 
that Uncle Simon was very wise in making you his sole 
executor. And because the estate must be settled within a 
year, I have come down to take you back to New York to 
help me carry out his wishes.” 

Again Matthew shook his head slowly but emphatically. 
“Impossible!” he said. “I can’t do it!” 

“But you must, Daddy! You are wise enough to do 
anything. You wouldn’t disappoint me after I have come 
half way around the world to take you back to New York.” 

Matthew regarded her quizzically. Then, as he 
surveyed his own attire he said with a whimsical laugh: 
“What would they think of me on Broadway in a rig like 
this ?” 

“There are worse looking rigs than that on Broadway 
every day,” declared Mary, thinking of the many sights 
which had seemed most strange to her. “I am sure Uncle 
Simon knew—” 

“Yes, Simon knew Broadway,” interrupted Matthew, 
“but how little he knew me.” 


86 


MATTHEW BRENT 


‘‘Daddy, he knew you well. He became acquainted with 
you through your books. He said they spoke to him just 
as you used to speak. He was so sorry he hadn’t become 
better acquainted with you when you were young men 
together. His last message was: ‘I am a failure. 
Matthew can do it!’ and that is the message I bring you.” 

“A message from the dead!” muttered Matthew under 
his breath. “And what a message.” 

He bowed his head upon his hands and wept silently. 

“There! There, Daddy!” said Mary sympathetically as 
she rose to her feet. “Don’t cry! It will all come out 
right. I will leave you to think it over—alone.” 

Left to himself Matthew Brent remained silent for some 
moments; but as he slowly raised his eyes he murmured: 

“So he came to know that his life had been a failure. 
He owned railroads and ships and factories—but he lived 
solely for himself. He knew not the meaning of love. 
He had no love for his fellow-man—no love for anyone!” 
Then as he gazed afar over the waters of the great 
Pacific: “Yes, there was some one. His heart must have 
gone out to Mary. Maybe in making her happy, he 
thought he was doing something for somebody. 

“And this message to me! It is a voice from the past 
calling me back. It seems a sacred duty; yet I cannot go! 
No, I cannot go!” 

Again the aged man buried his face in his hands. 

As he sat thus thinking, Tippo-Tib came from the 
house. Seeing Matthew’s attitude he hastened to his side. 

“Is the father sick?” he asked, as he kneeled beside him. 

Slowly Matthew raised his head. 

“No, Tippo-Tib, not sick; only heavy. I have heard a 
voice out of the past calling me back to my own people.” 

“Your own people?” asked Tippo-Tib looking at him in 
startled surprise. “Your own people? Are we not your 
own people? Who can love you as we love you? You 


MATTHEW BRENT 


87 


couldn’t leave us, Father? Only the Great Spirit can 
take you from us.” 

Tenderly Matthew laid his hand upon the native’s head 
as he exclaimed: “Only the Great Spirit.” 

Then rising to his feet: “No, Tippo-Tib, I cannot 
leave }^ou. It would be more than I could bear. Come! 
We will think no more about it. Let us go about our 
daily task.” 

Laying his hand upon the native’s shoulder, he slowly 
made his way toward the shore as Mary and Durham 
emerged from the house. 

“You have told him?” queried Durham. 

“Yes,” and as her eyes caught sight of the retreating 
couple she added sadly: “There he goes, Arthur. You 
can see by his manner the load I have laid upon him. Oh, 
why did Uncle Simon do this?” 

“Why,” exclaimed Durham in the utmost surprise. “I 
thought we had decided that it was the best thing he 
could have done.” 

“It did seem so in New York; but somehow things look 
differently down here.” 

“I hope I don’t look any different. Do I?” 

“Oh, Arthur, I can’t tell. Why did I ever leave this 
peaceful spot?” 

Durham regarded her intently. 

“Why did you ever—” and he stopped without finishing 
his question. “Say,” he finally began in his abrupt man¬ 
ner, “what would I be doing if you hadn’t? Have you 
forgotten all about me, Mary?” 

“You know better; but as compared to Daddy’s 
happiness we seem of so little importance.” 

“Oh, we do, do we?” said Durham bristling. 

“Well, don’t we?” 

“Not by a long shot. Your happiness is more to me 
than anything else.” 


88 


MATTHEW BRENT 


A little flush of gratification spread itself over Mary’s 
face as she said earnestly: “But I never could be happy 
if Daddy were unhappy.” 

“Then it’s up to yours truly to make Daddy happy,” 
said Durham emphatically. “But how?” 

“You might ask your mother.” 

“Not for Artie,” was the characteristic rejoinder. “I 
am just beginning to learn that mother’s ideas of how 
to make a man happy and mine don’t exactly agree. 
Suppose we go down to the beach and think it over.” 


CHAPTER IX 


H AVING finished her cocoa, and to a certain extent 
having regained her composure—if not her good 
nature—Mrs. Durham made her appearance upon the 
porch and espied the young couple disappearing in the 
distance. 

“Humph!” she ejaculated. “Paul and Virginia. All 
they need to make the picture complete is the palm leaf.” 

Finding herself alone Mrs. Durham made a hasty 
survey of her surroundings. 

“Well, of all the dismal places,” she finally said, “this 
is the worst.” 

Presently she saw Matthew approaching from the 
direction of the grove with a dozen natives at his heels, 
and her face hardened: 

“That old man!” she ejaculated. “Why, the way he 
lords it over every one here is absurd. Equality, indeed, 
with the whole village following as if he were a king! 
Well, he can’t lord it over me!” and she deliberately 
turned her back upon the approaching islanders. 

If Mrs. Durham had any expectation that Matthew 
would see her or attempt to influence her in any way, 
she was greatly mistaken. He paid not the slightest 
attention to her, but again seated himself upon the rustic 
bench. Here he remained for several seconds with bowed 
head, while the natives silently withdrew. 

Not hearing any noise, Mrs. Durham’s curiosity pre¬ 
vailed and she turned slowly around. 

89 


90 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“I should think you would feel ashamed of yourself,” 
she exclaimed after silently observing him for several 
minutes. 

Matthew slowly raised his head. 

“Were you speaking to me, Madam?” 

44 To whom else should I be speaking? Do you see any 
one else around here? I say I should think you would 
be ashamed of yourself.” 

“Why, Madam!” exclaimed Matthew in some surprise, 
“What have I done?” 

“It’s not what you have done. It is what you have 
not done. The idea of letting that sailor go! He may 
come back at any time and kill the whole of us.” 

“Oh, I don’t think so,” and Matthew shrugged his 
shoulders. 

“And I suppose if you don’t think so, it couldn’t be 
so, no matter whether it is so or not.” 

Matthew made no reply, but arose to his feet with 
the intention of quitting her presence. 

“Do not make any attempt to apologize,” she ex¬ 
claimed, determined to forestall anything he might have 
to say. “You’ll only make the matter worse! You 
wouldn’t care if we were all murdered—now, would you?” 

“Well,” he replied slowly, “there are some without 
whom we could get along very well.” 

Mrs. Durham exploded. 

“Oh, there are, are there? Well, Mr. Matthew Brent, 
I will not intrude myself upon your hospitality any 
further. Thank heaven I have a private and comfortable 
place on board the yacht!” 

Then as she turned to leave: “I can see now where 
Mary gets that stubborn disposition. Good morning, 
sir,” and she swept herself out of sight around the house. 

Matthew drew a long breath and shook his head. 

“My! My!” he exclaimed. “What memories of the 


MATTHEW BRENT 


91 


world she recalls; but—” regretfully, “I’m sorry I 
offended her. I had almost forgotten what civilization 
is like. Hove thankful I ought to be.” 

Again he seated himself and was soon lost in his reflec¬ 
tions. 

He had not been thus absorbed long when Mary and 
Durham returned from their stroll. By the expression 
upon Durham’s face he had evidently determined upon 
his line of action. 

“Now, here’s the proposition,” he was explaining to 
Mary as they came through the palms. “Your Uncle 
Simon’s estate must be settled. Your grandfather is the 
only man, at present, who can do it. If he won’t return 
to New York of his own accord, he must either be driven 
or pulled back. 

“Oh, Arthur!” exclaimed Mary as she caught sight of 
the bent figure. “You won’t do or say anything to hurt 
his feelings?” 

“Not for a million,” was his airy reply. “Now just 
you keep quiet and take your cue from me.” 

Without a word Mary took a seat upon the porch, 
while Durham pulling himself together approached 
Matthew. 

“Well,” he began by way of introduction, “are all 
the daily duties finished, Mr. Brent?” 

Matthew raised his head with a characteristic gesture. 

“Oh, no, Captain; but Mary has told me something 
that weighs heavily upon my mind and I had to think it 
out. I suppose you know what I mean?” 

“Yes, sir. Everybody in the United States knows 
about—” 

“What?” interrupted Matthew. “Everybody in the 
United States knows about Simon’s will?” 

“Sure! Why, as soon as the will was filed for probate, 
the papers printed columns about it.” 


92 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“Columns ?” increduously. “There were not columns to 
print.” 

Durham looked at him compassionately. 

“Not columns? Why, Mr. Brent, some of the papers 
made pages; and one of them printed nearly half of the 
book over which you and your brother quarreled.” 

Matthew’s face flushed. 

“Still you want me to go back to New York? Why 
I wouldn’t dare to show my face on Broadway, even if 
I wanted to—which I don’t.” 

“But you’ve just got to go, Mr. Brent,” insisted Dur¬ 
ham impetuously. 

Matthew rose to his feet with great dignity. 

“Got to, sir! I don’t like the phrase!” and he looked 
down upon the young man from under his shaggy eye¬ 
brows with an expression which reminded Arthur of 
Simon Brent more than anything the old man had yet 
done. 

Seeing his mistake Durham explained hastily: “You 
don’t understand me, sir. I mean that in justice to 
many people, you must go. Can’t you see that if this 
great estate isn’t properly administered—and that at 
once—it may result in serious injury to others—possibly 
ruin ?” 

For a moment Matthew made no reply, seemingly look¬ 
ing within himself. 

“Ruin,” he repeated slowly. “I hadn’t thought of that; 
but I should have known it. Yes, others may be ruined 
by something Simon has done.” 

Then as though looking back into the past he 
exclaimed: “Simon, Simon, why wouldn’t you be guided 
by me? Why have you done this?” 

“Done what?” asked Durham in surprise. 

“Taken other people’s money, to be sure. Simon knew 
it was wrong.” 


MATTHEW BRENT 


93 


“He didn’t take anyone else’s money, Mr. Brent. He 
made it all honestly.” 

“Honestly, do you say, Captain Durham? I cannot 
believe it. I have no doubt that he made it; but how could 
he make it honestly?” 

“Easily enough, sir. Business is business and—” 

Matthew raised his hand to interrupt the speaker. 

“Don’t try to explain it,” he said. “I couldn’t under¬ 
stand. I should be of no use in trying to settle his estate. 
I’d be a round post in a square hole.” 

“Nonsense!” declared Durham emphatically. “You are 
square enough to fit any place. You will just have to 
go back.” 

“Impossible, Captain. There is no use of talking fur¬ 
ther. “I can’t do it,” and Matthew started to walk 
away as though the matter were settled. 

“Very well, then, Mr. Brent. If that is your decision, 
Mary will have to go back alone.” 

“What?” and Matthew turned abruptly. “Mary will 
have to go back alone? You don’t think she would?” 

Durham shrugged his shoulders. 

“Ask her and see if she does not confirm my statement.” 

Matthew took a step toward the porch. 

“Mary,” he said, “tell me it isn’t so. You don’t have 
to go back to New York? You don’t have to go and 
leave your poor old grandfather?” 

“Why, Daddy, of course—” 

“Of course, it is so,” interrupted Durham, noticing 
the look of indecision on Mary’s face. “Of course, it 
is so. She will have to go back and apply to the courts 
for another guardian—and she might not get one that 
would suit her. Isn’t that so, Miss Brent?” 

Mary drew a deep sigh as she slowly came down from 
the porch. 

“I suppose it is,” she replied. 


MATTHEW BRENT 


94 

“Do you mean to tell me,” said Matthew, “that you 
have to go back among all those sharks—with no one to 
protect you?” 

Mary stood perplexed and her eyes sought those of 
her lover in a questioning gaze. 

“Well, not exactly unprotected, Mr. Brent,” the young 
man ventured to explain. “I’ll be there and—and—you 
know—well,” then turning to Mary: “You should tell 
him!” 

Mary shook her head and frowned. “I can’t. You’ll 
have to.” 

“But you know him better than I do,” declared Dur¬ 
ham. “Now, don’t be stubborn. Tell him!” 

Matthew regarded his granddaughter sternly. “Mary, 
what does he mean?” 

The girl’s face grew pink. “Oh nothing, Daddy, he’s 
just talking.” 

Matthew shook his head. “That woman said you were 
stubborn too.” 

Mary stamped her foot with impatience. 

“Daddy, I’m not stubborn; and if you were not so blind 
you’d be able to guess.” 

“Oh, pshaw!” exclaimed Durham sheepishly. “He’d 
never guess. Tell him.” 

Mary’s face became even more rosy and she turned her 
back upon both of them. 

Matthew’s face grew dark. “Mary,” he said in a 
voice of stern command, “answer me. What is there to 
tell?” 

For a moment there was silence and then Durham, sum¬ 
moning his courage, said boldly: “It isn’t such a serious 
matter, Mr. Brent. Mary and I love each other. We 
would have been married before this, only Mary wanted 
to get your consent.” 

The expression of surprise upon Matthew’s face would 


MATTHEW BRENT 


95 


have been humorous to any one except the two directly 
interested. 

“Is this true?” he finally managed to gasp. 

Mary turned with a look of happiness upon her face. 

“Can’t you see it is?” she exclaimed. “Oh, Daddy, 
don’t look at me so hard. You ought to know all about 
it; you were young once,” and stepping forward she 
impulsively hid her face on her grandfather’s shoulder. 

Slowly Matthew lifted her head and gazed earnestly 
into her beautiful eyes. Then he turned questioningly 
to Durham. 

“Suppose, Captain,” he asked quizzically, “that I 
refuse to give my consent?” 

“Oh, Daddy,” exclaimed Mary under her breath, “you 
couldn’t. And,” she continued hastily, “he isn’t Captain. 
He’s just Arthur Durham, the son of Uncle Simon’s best 
friend.” 

“But suppose I should refuse?” insisted Matthew. 

“Then I’d marry her anyway,” declared Durham reck¬ 
lessly, “and take her back to New York without you.” 

Matthew’s face fell and he cast his eyes to the ground. 

“So!” he ejaculated. “It has come to that.” 

“Arthur!” cried Mary in great distress. “Now you 
have hurt him!” 

She drew more closely to her grandfather’s side. 
“Daddy,” she said earnestly, “he couldn’t do it. Much 
as I love Arthur, I wouldn’t go.” 

Matthew put his arm about her and drew her to his 
breast. 

“I know you wouldn’t,” he said. “I know you wouldn’t 
be so cruel.” 

Raising his head lie looked the young man squarely in 
the face. 

“Do you hear, Mr. Durham. She wouldn’t leave me.” 

For several moments they stood thus*—the two men 


96 


MATTHEW BRENT 


eyeing each other fiercely, the girl beside them torn by 
the old conflict between love and duty. 

Durham was the first to break the silence. 

“Of course, sir,” he said, “she knows her own mind best. 
I know you love her; but you don’t love her any better 
than I do. Old man that you are, you would sacrifice 
her future to your happiness. I am willing to sacrifice 
my happiness to hers.” 

“Oh, Daddy,” pleaded Mary, “Isn’t there some way we 
can all be happy? You must know some way!” 

There was a long silence. 

Einally Matthew spoke in a calm and measured voice, 
in which was neither anger nor pain. “Captain—Mr. 
Durham, although you are a young man you have proven 
yourself a better man than I—” 

“Mr. Brent,” interrupted Durham, starting forward. 

Matthew raised his hand. “Let me finish. You have 
shown me that in spite of all my years of labor to a 
given end, when the test came, I was selfish.” 

“Daddy!” exclaimed Mary. “You don’t even know 
what that word means.” 

“At least, I am going to try to forget,” was the answer. 

Again there was silence, broken only by the approach of 
Tippo-Tib and several natives. Seeing that Matthew was 
engaged they stopped at a little distance to await his 
pleasure. 

“Yes,” he finally continued. “I’m going to try to 
prove my unselfishness by doing something for you, which 
an hour ago seemed impossible. With your assistance, 
Mr. Durham—” 

“Oh, he can give you plenty of assistance,” exclaimed 
Mary joyfully. “Arthur is a fine business man. Uncle 
Simon said he was.” 

Durham’s face flushed as Matthew continued with just 
a touch of irony: 


MATTHEW BKENT 


“Well then, Mr. Durham, if you will promise me your 
fine business assistance, I will try to fulfill the trust im¬ 
posed upon me by my brother. I will go to New York.” 

“You will?” exclaimed Mary and Durham in the same 
breath. “You will?” 

Matthew drew himself up with great dignity. 

“You have my word,” he replied, “I will go.” 

As the aged man announced his decision, Tippo-Tib 
came hastily forward. Throwing himself to the ground 
he grasped Matthew by the knees exclaiming: “Father! 
You said that only the Great Spirit should take you 
from us!” 

“True, Tippo-Tib,” replied Matthew as he raised the 
native to his feet, “and this is the Great Spirit—the great 
Spirit of Love, which would have us do others as we 
would have them do us.” 


CHAPTER X 


I T WAS a cold morning in February. Billy had just 
dropped into Simon Brent’s big office chair-—a chair 
which had been occupied by nobody but Billy since 
Simon’s death—and was busily engaged reading the 
morning paper. 

Billy had changed some since that day when he had 
brought Simon the letter from Matthew, which had so 
altered the lives of those about whom it was written. The 
nearly three years which had elapsed have developed 
Billy from a pug-nosed office boy into a strictly 
up-to-date clerk of almost twenty; but the years have 
taken away none of his boyish self-assurance. Rather have 
they added to it, so that Billy with his naturally quick 
perception, has become quite a valuable asset to the Brent 
office force. 

Having thoroughly digested the sporting page, Billy 
turned the paper, remarking to himself: “If I don’t 
finish before Prichard gets here, he’ll take it away from 
me to read the patent medicine ads. Gee! It must be 
tough to have to fill yourself up with all that kind of 
dope!” 

He slowly ran his eye down the first column. 

“Hello! What’s this ? ‘The steam yacht Arethusa ar¬ 
rived from the South Sea Islands last night, having on 
board Matthew Brent and his granddaughter Mary.’ ” 
“So!” he exclaimed. “The old man has arrived—and 
Mary, too. Now, there’s a girl for you,” and he arose 

98 


MATTHEW BRENT 


99 


and shoved his hands into his pockets. “The real thing. 
No two-sided affair. Thinks Pm just as good as she is. 

“Of course,” after a pause, “nobody could be that; but 
I don’t see why I couldn’t run this business just as well 
as any other man. I know New York—yes, and I know 
the bunch around here, too!” and Billy plunged his hands 
deeper into his pockets and himself correspondingly 
deeper into his reflections. 

He was thus absorbed in his musings when the outer 
door to the office opened slowly. 

The noise attracted Billy, who turned to confront 
Matthew, fresh from his voyage, standing in the doorway. 

Never before having seen Matthew, and not expecting 
that he would make his appearance thus unheralded, it 
is not at all surprising that Billy did not even surmise 
who he might be. 

Matthew was indeed a quaint figure. 

He had exchanged his white suit for a dark one. 
Instead of his tropical helmet, he wore a broad-rimmed, 
black hat which accentuated his white hair and abundant 
white beard. He still wore his white shoes, but had com¬ 
pletely enveloped himself in a huge, fur-lined overcoat, 
with a large rolling collar. He was, in short, a revivified 
Joaquin Miller. 

Billy eyed him suspiciously, although impressed by 
his cheery voice. 

“Good morning, young man,” was Matthew’s greeting. 
“Is this the office of Simon Brent?” 

“Yes, sir; but he’s dead.” 

“Well, I’m glad to get here. I had a hard time finding 
the place.” 

He advanced into the room and glanced about. 

“Anybody could have told you, if you had asked,” 
said Billy. 

“I expect so,” chuckled Matthew, “but I thought I 


100 


MATTHEW BRENT 


could find my way to Park Row without asking. Thought 
I’d know the landmarks; but the only thing I’ve 
seen that looked natural is Trinity, and that’s shrunk. 
It used to be mighty tall. When did they build that big 
bridge?” 

Billy shook his head. 

“It was here when I came,” he said. 

“Yes, I expect so,” said Matthew. “They were talk¬ 
ing about it the last I remember. What’s become of 
French’s hotel?” 

Billy drew back and eyed Matthew more suspiciously 
than before. 

“Never heard of French’s hotel,” he finally said. Then 
after a pause: “You know what city this is, don’t you?” 

“Well, I should say so. French’s used to be up there 
somewhere, but I guess I can’t see it for the big build- 
ings.” 

He walked around and inspected the office. 

“You’d never guess how I did find the place,” he finally 
said. 

“Asked a policemen. That’s what you ought’a done.” 

Matthew shook his head. 

“Maybe you asked a newsboy.” 

“I did,” laughed Matthew, “but he couldn’t speak 
English.” 

“That’s right,” Billy agreed in a tone that was a ver¬ 
itable snort. “If you want to do business in New York 
today, you got to speak Greek.” 

Matthew regarded the lad with much interest. 

“You don’t tell me,” he said. “I didn’t know New 
York had become so classical.” 

“You’ll find it classy all right,” was Billy’s interpre¬ 
tation of Matthew’s remark. Then after a moment: “But 
how did you finally find your way here from—well, from 
wherever you came from?” 


MATTHEW BRENT 


101 


“I picked out the tallest building I could see and took 
a chance. I thought if Simon was such a big man, he 
must own the biggest building.” Then as an after 
thought: “It’s a mighty long climb up twenty flights of 
stairs.” 

Billy drew a long breath. He was too dumbfounded to 
speak, but watched Matthew as he stopped in front of 
the bookcase. 

“My books,” muttered Matthew, as he opened the case 
and took one in his hand, “and he really had been reading 
them. Poor Simon!” 

He slowly replaced the book, while Billy remarked to 
himself that “the old man is making himself at home.” 

“I wonder where he escaped from?” he thought. 

Matthew turned upon the lad suddenly. 

“I don’t suppose you are the manager.” 

“Not yet!” and Billy threw out his chest. “Guess 
again.” 

Matthew smiled quizzically. 

“I’m not good at guessing, but I would be glad to 
know whom I have the honor of addressing.” 

Billy was puzzled. 

“Honor!” he exclaimed. “That’s new, but it’s good. 
Well, I’m the private secretary to the head of the house.” 

He put his thumbs into the armholes of his vest, seated 
himself in Simon’s big chair and crossed his legs. 

So absorbed was he in his own little joke that he failed 
to notice the twinkle in Matthew’s eye as he retorted: 
“You don’t say so! His private secretary!” Then a bit 
seriously: “I see you are a young man of great possibil¬ 
ities; if you are not careful, however, I am afraid your 
future will be as short as it seems to be brilliant. But 
tell me: Is this where Simon spent his life?” 

The impressive manner of the last question had its 
effect upon Billy and he observed Matthew more carefully. 


102 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“Some old friend,” he thought. Aloud, he said more 
respectfully: “Not quite, sir. Up to the time his niece 
came, he slept and ate at the club.” 

Matthew laughed. 

“Then he did get away from business long enough to 
eat; and I suppose,” he continued waving his hand, “he 
called this living.” 

“Why sure!” replied Billy springing to his feet. 
“Don’t you?” 

Matthew unbuttoned the great fur-lined coat and the 
old-fashioned Prince Albert he wore beneath it. Slowly 
he put one hand into his trousers’ pocket, while Billy 
observed his attitude. 

“Young man,” he asked, “does this seem to you to be 
living—to spend your days within four walls, trying 
to see how much money you can pile up; and to spend 
your nights at the club, where the only friends you have 
are the ones you buy?” 

Billy scratched his head and eyed Matthew curiously, 

“It seems pretty good to me,” he finally retorted, “to 
pile up the dollars.” 

Matthew shook his head sadly. 

“Seems is just the word; but it only seems. It isn’t 
good; it isn’t living.” 

“No?” queried Billy. 

“No,” replied Matthew. “Living, young man, doesn’t 
consist in trying to do somebody, as the saying goes. It 
consists in doing for somebody.” 

Then suddenly changing the subject: “But what time 
does Mr. Morris get down?” 

“Along about ten o’clock. Have you an appointment ?” 

Matthew smiled broadly. 

“Not exactly, but I rather think he is expecting me.” 

“Well, he won’t be here for some time,” was Billy’s 
abrupt reply as he turned to the typewriter. “You’ve 


MATTHEW BRENT 


103 


got plenty of time to go out for a shave and a hair cut.” 

“Wh-wh-wh-at ?” exclaimed Matthew in some anger and 
more surprise. “A shave?” 

Billy nodded his head in the affirmative. 

For some moments Matthew pondered over the sugges¬ 
tion while he gently stroked his long white beard. 

“Do you think I really need a shave?” he finally asked. 

“I hope you’ll excuse me, sir,” laughed Billy. “I didn’t 
mean to give you free advice; but a barber would make 
you look a whole lot more like New York and less like 
Rip Van Winkle.” 

Matthew regarded the boy with an amused expression. 

“You’re honest anyway.” 

“Honest!” retorted Billy while the blood rushed to his 
face. “I wouldn’t take a nick that didn’t belong to me 
if I was starving—and that’s a whole lot more than some 
folks around here can say.” 

“There! There!” soothingly. “Don’t be offended. I 
simply mean you are honest in your opinion. But where 
is the staff?” 

“The staff?” in surprise. “What are you talking 
about?” 

“The office staff. They ought to be here by this 
time. It’s after eight o’clock, Mr.—Mr.—what did you 
say your name was?” 

“Me? My name is Sharpe; Billy Sharpe.” 

Matthew smiled broadly. 

“Sharpe? Then you’ll see the point when I confide in 
you—” 

“Better not,” said Billy, edging away. “Better keep 
your troubles to yourself.” 

“Trouble? Who said anything about trouble?” and 
Matthew looked sternly at the young man. “I was simply 
going to tell you that as I expect to be around New York 
a good deal in settling up my brother Simon’s estate—” 


104 


MATTHEW BllENT 


“Wha-wha-what ?” stammered Billy, almost overcome 
by his surprise. “Your—-your brother? Say, who are 
you anyway?” 

Matthew chuckled softly to himself as he replied in 
much the same manner that Billy had answered a similar 
question: “I am Matthew Brent, the head of the house, 
whose private secretary I understand you are.” 

Billy literally fell into the chair. 

“Oh, Theodore!” he gasped. “Brother Matthew!” 

“Exactly! And now, young man, unless you want to 
make good my prediction of a short and brilliant future— 
you’ll look sharp, too.” 

He took Billy by the ear and raised him to his feet. 

“Say, let go of that!” ejaculated Billy, pulling away. 
“I guess you don’t know how they treat clerks in New 
York.” Then in a changed tone: “But honest, Mr. 
Brent, I didn’t mean nothing. I was just having a little 
fun.” 

“After this, young man, have your fun with those of 
your own age and learn to treat your elders with respect. 
That’s the way I was taught when I was a boy. How¬ 
ever,” in a milder tone, “I will overlook your imperti¬ 
nence this morning on one condition. I am an old man 
and have been away from New York for many years. I 
can see you are a bright young man. If you will coach 
me a bit, as we used to say, I’ll do the right thing by 
you. 

“Now then, you suggested a shave. Do you really 
think I’d make a better impression if I’d cut of these 
whiskers ?” 

“Well,” stammered Billy, in the mildest fashion, “as I 
said before, Mr. Brent, I ain’t long on giving advice; but 
if I was going to do business in these offices, I’d part with 
the spinach and the sombrero.” 

“What, the hat, too?” 


MATTHEW BRENT 


105 


Matthew took of! his broad-rimmed headgear and ex¬ 
amined it critically. 

Then suddenly: “How about this overcoat?” 

“That’s all right. That’s the real thing.” 

“It was Simon’s,” explained Matthew. “I found it hang¬ 
ing up in the closet. It looks like a pretty good coat. 
It must have cost as much as forty dollars.” 

Billy smiled as he remembered very well the day when 
Simon sent him down to the furriers with a check for 
$2,500 to pay for that identical garment. 

“Simon and I were about of a size,” Matthew continued. 

“You don’t look much alike,” ventured Billy. 

“No, I reckon not. I’m pretty old-fashioned.” 

“But you’re not old, Mr. Brent—barring these,” and 
Billy indicated the whiskers. 

“No, indeed,” exclaimed Matthew straightening him¬ 
self: “I don’t feel a day over fifty.” 

“And by the twinkle in your eye,” continued Billy, “I 
bet five dollars the barber can make you look it.” Then 
confidentially: “Say, let him do it! New York ain’t got 
no use for old men.” 

“I think you’re right, William. Yes, I think you’re 
quite right.” 

Matthew started for the door while Billy threw open 
the typewriter desk and seated himself in the little chair. 

“What’s that?” asked Matthew, stopping in the door¬ 
way and coming back. 

“That’s a typewriter.” 

“Oh,” exclaimed Matthew 7 , examining it curiously. “One 
of those letter writing machines. I’ve read about them, 
but I never saw 7 one of them before.” 

Billy raised his eyes and looked at Matthew in astonish¬ 
ment. “What are you giving me? Never saw a type¬ 
writer ?” 

“We don’t have any need of such things in Tonga.” 


106 MATTHEW BRENT 

Billy slid the paper under the roll, remarking with a 
sigh: 

“I’m afraid New York’s going to be most too fast for 
you, Mr. Brent.” Then as he began to write: “You’ll 
excuse me, but this report has to go out the first thing 
every morning.” 

Matthew watched him with unfeigned curiosity, until 
he had finished. 

“Looks mighty easy,” he commented. “I got used to 
that other new fangled thing on the ship,” and he pointed 
to the telephone, “although I never had nerve enough 
to talk to it. What do you call this?” and he laid his 
hand on the ticker which stood beside the desk. 

“That’s a stock ticker.” 

“Looks like an old-fashioned telegraph instrument—with 
all of this paper running out of it. Captain Durham 
was telling me they take messages by sound now; but 
of course I know better than that. I ain’t quite as ‘green’ 
as I look,” and the old man winked knowingly. “Are 
you a telegrapher?” 

“No, sir,” but anybody can read this.” Billy held out 
the tape toward Matthew. “Here’s yesterday’s closing, 
see.” 

Matthew examined the tape carefully. 

“What’s this mean?” he asked. “Call money three and 
a quarter.” 

“That’s the rate on money. Gee, but it’s high.” 

“Is it? I always thought seven per cent, was the legal 
interest.” 

If Billy knew what Matthew was talking about he 
made no indication, so absorbed had he become in the 
tape. 

“Oh, Theodore!” he exclaimed. “Look at this: Gen¬ 
eral Electric closed, one fifty-nine and a quarter asked: 
one fifty-nine bid. This is a good time to buy.” 


MATTHEW BRENT 


107 


“Is that so?” and Matthew looked at the boy in sur¬ 
prise. “Well, I don’t want any.” 

“Any what?” 

“Electricity.” 

Billy laughed aloud. 

“This ain’t electricity. This is General Electric Com¬ 
pany stock.” 

“Stock!” snorted Matthew. “Stock! Well, I don’t want 
any stock, either.” 

“You mean you think it ain’t a good investment?” 

“I mean for anything. I don’t own any and I don’t 
want any.” 

Billy winked his left eye slowly as he dropped the tape 
into the basket. 

“You’re a good one all right, Mr. Brent. They can’t 
fool you. I bet when you get on the Street you’ll trim 
’em.” 

“Trim ’em?” repeated Matthew. “Oh, yes,” and he 
passed his hand over his whiskers. “I most forgot. I did 
start to trim ’em, didn’t I? Guess I had better do it 
right off.” 

Again he started for the door when his eye was at¬ 
tracted to the newspaper which Billy had been reading. 

“If you don’t mind,” he said, “I’ll take this along to 
read at the barber shop. Why,” as he glanced it over, 
“it’s the Tri-bune. It’s Greeley’s paper.” Confidentially. 
“I used to work on the Tri-bune fifty years ago. It looks 
about the same,” turning the paper over. “Great man, 
Greeley; ever meet him? Of course not! Of course not!” 

Matthew chuckled to himself. 

“You’d hardly know Greeley, would you? But say, why 
don’t you follow his advice?” 

“Advice?” and Billy wrinkled his brow. “Oh, yes, you 
mean the one best bet.” 

It was Matthew’s turn to be puzzled. 


108 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“That’s a new name for it,” he said, “but maybe that’s 
what you call it now. The advice was this: ‘Go west, 
young man; go west.’ ” 

“Humph!” from Bill} 7 in disgust. “That ain’t no 
good advice.” 

“No?” 

“No, I tried it once. Went as far as Buffalo. Gee, 
but it was slow 1” 

Matthew regarded him quizzicalW. “I see New Yorkers 
haven’t changed much after all. That’s what we thought 
about Buffalo fifty years ago. But I was looking for the 
Planet. Haven’t got one, have you?” 

“No, sir. I never read the Planet .” 

“Why not?” 

“The sport page ain’t no good. But I can get you 
one.” 

“Never mind,” replied Matthew as he was leaving the 
office, “I’ll get one on the way to the barber shop. I sup¬ 
pose there is a shop near by?” 

“Next floor below.” 

“All right. Tell Mr. Morris I am here,” and Matthew 
went out leaving the boy to ruminate on the changed 
conditions. 


CHAPTER XI 


F RANKLIN Morris was an ambitious man. 

He had always felt that he could manage great 
enterprises as well, or better than Simon Brent. His 
successful conduct of the Brent estate since the passing 
of Simon had strengthened his opinion. 

During Simon’s lifetime it had frequently been neces¬ 
sary—in order to further some great financial project— 
to control, or at least to influence, legislation. This 
work had, for the last few years, been entrusted to 
Morris, but always under Simon’s direction. For the 
last two or three times, however, Morris had been less 
subservient. To further his own interests he had sought 
the assistance of Gilson Gage. 

It was his effort to repay this assistance that had 
induced him to play false to Simon. Only he and Durham 
knew that Simon’s death alone had saved Morris from 
ignominy and oblivion. 

Misjudging his own ability^, Morris now hoped to take 
Simon’s place in the financial world and to use Gage as 
a subordinate. 

Had Morris confined his ambition solely to acquiring a 
place in the financial world, all might have gone well for 
an indefinite time; but he had ambitions along different 
lines. 

He desired to be a power in the conduct of the national 
government. 

Neither was he satisfied, as Simon had been, to sit in 


110 


MATTHEW BRENT 


the background and puli the strings. He longed for the 
limelight. Thus it was that he had cast his eye upon an ex¬ 
alted position in the President’s Cabinet. 

A new presidential term was about to begin. Changes 
might reasonably be expected. Industrial and foreign 
conditions were such that it was only right that the great 
financial interests should be consulted. 

This was Morris’s opportunity. 

To him, conditions favorable to the advancement of his 
plans seemed most propitious. 

For the time being he was in almost absolute control 
of the Brent millions. The only man in position to dis¬ 
credit him was on the other side of the world. The exe¬ 
cutor of Simon’s will was not expected in New York for 
some weeks. Whenever he did come, it never occurred 
to Morris that he would interfere with existing conditions. 

“Matthew Brent has been out of the world for years,” 
he told himself, “and it will be impossible for him to 
settle the estate, or even to manage it, without my assist¬ 
ance. It is the opportune moment.” 

Thereupon he sent for Gilson Gage. 

Now if there were a natural successor to Simon Brent, 
Gilson Gage was the man. He was a born money-maker, 
an organizer, a diplomat and a politician. The one thing 
lacking to make him great, was moral strength. There 
was this in common between him and Morris: they were 
absolutely unscrupulous in the methods they might em¬ 
ploy to a given end. Otherwise they were as far apart 
as the poles. 

Morris longed for political power in order to plume his 
vanity. 

Gage would rather have been in Simon Brent’s shoes 
than to have been President of the United States. How 
anyone could wish to hold office, was a mystery to him. 

Therefore, he misunderstood Morris. 


MATTHEW BRENT 


111 


When that gentleman began to talk about available 
material for the treasury portfolio, Gage never dreamed 
that Morris might want it himself. He thought Morris 
simply wanted a man who would be friendly in the Street. 
Such a one was Alexander Bowen, president of the Cos¬ 
mopolitan Bank, a man who would be most acceptable to 
the administration as well as to financiers. 

Gage mentioned him to Morris. 

“He’s a good man,” declared Gage. 

“Undoubtedly,” replied Morris, “unless we can find a 
better.” 

“That would be pretty hard 1” 

“True,” replied Morris, thinking only of himself, “but 
there is one. Today, he occupies a most exalted position. 
You know him.” 

“Oh, do I?” 

“Certainly.” 

Gage scratched his head. He did not wish to appear 
ignorant and so he finally said: “Well, yes, I expect I 
do; but I think Bowen the most available.” 

“Maybe,” said Morris, “but I think not. Of course,” 
he added, as he felt that Gage understood, “I do not 
wish to appear to name the new secretary. Now that you 
know whom I desire I’ll leave the matter entirely in your 
hands. I’m sure you’ll pick the right man.” 

Gage pondered a few hours over Morris’s words. He 
could think of no one as suitable as Bowen, and as Morris 
had said he would leave the matter entirety in his hands, 
he decided to act upon his own judgment. 

Whereupon he notified the incoming administration 
that Bowen would be most acceptable. 

The fact leaked out in Washington, as such matters 
do, and was made the subject of a news story. 

When Morris saw the story in the evening paper, he 
was furious. 


112 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“The idiot!” he cried, and immediately set to work to 
carry out his own selfish ends. 

The first thing to be done was to create a flurry in the 
market. 

The second was to order an editorial in the Planet , 
attributing the flurry to lack of confidence in Bowen by 
the financial interests. 

This plan he proceeded to put into effect on the after¬ 
noon prior to Matthew Brent’s arrival in New York, the 
editorial appearing in the Planet the following morning. 

When Gage picked up the paper on his arrival at his 
office he was as angry as Morris had been the evening 
before. Recognizing at once Morris’s hand in the matter, 
he burst into that gentleman’s office just as he had laid 
aside his hat and overcoat. 

“Say, Morris,” he exclaimed abruptly, “what do you 
think you’re trying to do?” 

Morris regarded him in feigned surprise as he observed 
him coldly. 

“Excuse me, Mr. Gage,” he said, “but I don’t think I 
quite understand you. However, if you have anything 
especial to say, we had better retire to another room.” 

He led the way to Simon’s private office, where, after 
sending Billy out and closing the door, he said fiercely: 

“Now, then, Gage, what’s the matter?” 

“You know what’s the matter. This flurry in the mar¬ 
ket and hammering down of prices.” 

“Well, why should you object?” with a laugh. “It will 
give you a chance to fill your shorts.” 

“Bosh! What’s the use of beating about the bush? You 
know very well it’s not myself I’m thinking about.” 

Morris shrugged his shoulders. 

“I know so little what you think, that I have given up 
trying to find out. I thought maybe you had lost a few 
thousand.” 


MATTHEW BRENT 


113 


“You know that isn’t it,” replied Gage angrily, “it’s 
the effect on the Bowen appointment.” 

“What’s that to me?” retorted Morris. “I can’t see 
that I have anything to do with that.” 

Gage regarded his companion in speechless wonder, 
while each minute his rage increased. 

Approaching nearer to Morris and shaking his finger 
under his nose he exclaimed vehemently: “See here, Mor¬ 
ris, I won’t stand for any nonsense. You and I know 
each other too well to quibble over words. With your 
consent it has been announced that Bowen is practically 
slated for the secretaryship. Now, right on top of it, 
comes this flurry in the market.” 

“Well!” and Morris looked coldly upon the excited 
man. 

“It isn’t well,” shouted Gage, “and you know it. It’s 
a put up job, and here’s the proof of it.” 

He pointed to the editorial in the Planet which he held 
in his other hand. “Everybody knows that you control 
the Planet and here’s a statement that the disturbance in 
the market is due to lack of confidence in Bowen. I want 
to know what you are trying to do.” 

“I don’t think I said I was trying to do anything.” 

“No, but you are. Come! Out with it! Don’t you want 
Bowen?” 

Morris remained silent for a moment as he eyed Gage 
quizzically. 

“Don’t you remember that I said that there might be 
a better man for the place than Alexander Bowen?” he 
asked. 

“Yes; but we finally decided on Bowen.” 

Morris could not help smiling as he remarked: “Oh, 
we did?” 

“Sure, didn’t we?” 

“Not that I ever heard of.” 


114 


MATTHEW BRENT 


Gage grew red in the face and was about to make an 
angry reply when Morris laid his hand on his shoulder. 

“Gage,” he began, “I took you for a smart man; but 
you’re not. You’re so money-mad that you can’t under¬ 
stand how anyone can want anything but money. I don’t 
want Bowen appointed and I never said I did.” 

Again Gage changed color. When he spoke there was 
a note of alarm in his voice. 

“That isn’t the way I understood it,” he said. “I 
thought you favored Bowen and that’s why I decided 
upon him. I’m sorry you don’t like it, but I don’t see how 
we can change it now. You can’t play politics that way. 
Nobody will stand for it.” 

Morris’s face grew hard. 

“They’ll have to stand for it. Today I’m king of the 
Street and you know it.” 

* 4 If I don’t,” growled Gage, “I seem in a good way of 
finding out.” 

“Yes; and the cabinet makers will find it out. I am 
going to name the new secretary of the treasury, or 
I’ll know why.” 

“But I thought you were satisfied with Bowen?” expos¬ 
tulated Gage. 

“Well, I’m not.” 

“Well, whom do you want?” 

“If you were not so thick-headed you’d be able to see 
without my having to mention names. Who is it that 
stepped into Simon Brent’s place and handled his affairs 
so as to prevent the panic, which everyone predicted would 
follow his death? Who is it that has kept things level 
for the last three months? Who is it—” 

For a moment Gage eyed the speaker in amazement, 
and then burst into a boisterous laugh. 

“What!” he exclaimed. “You can’t mean it.” Then 
seeing that Morris was in earnest he blurted out: “Well, 


MATTHEW BRENT 115 

say, I like your nerve, Morris; but you know it can’t be 
done.” 

Morris’s face grew dark. 

“Why can’t it be done?” he asked angrily. “Hasn’t the 
Street been promised that it should name the man, and 
don’t I control the Street?” 

“Morris, you’re crazy. Why, the public wouldn’t stand 
for you a minute.” 

“The public be—” 

“There! There!” interrupted Gage. “Be original at 
least.” 

“Well, I mean it,” insisted Morris. “The public will 
have to stand for whoever is named.” 

Gage threw the paper onto the table and shoved both 
hands deep into his pockets. 

“Now, see here, Morris,” he finally said, “use a little 
common sense. With a new party just coming into 
power, you don’t think the president-elect is going to be 
fool enough to name a man like you as a member of his 
cabinet. Old Simon’s cloak may have fallen upon you, 
and it looks as though it had; but can you imagine anyone 
naming Simon Brent for the position?” 

Morris seated himself at the table and motioned Gage 
to do likewise. 

“Now listen to me, Gage,” he said after a pause, “I’m 
going to be just as frank with you as I know how. I 
know you can do this sort of thing if you wish, and so 
do you. You’re the one man in the United States who 
can help me to realize my ambition and I—” he paused 
significantly. 

“Well,” said Gage, “go on.” 

“I am the one man in the world who can help you to 
realize yours.” 

Gage looked at him inquisitively. 

“What do you think my ambition is?” he finally asked. 


116 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“To occupy the place in the financial world left vacant 
by Simon Brent.” 

Gage shrugged his shoulders. 

“Well, that is a pretty good guess, but I don’t see that 
I need your help.” 

“Then you’re not as smart as I thought you were. 
Without my help you can never get there.” 

“Why?” 

“Because you need Simon Brent’s money to put you 
there.” 

Gage drew a cigar from his vest pocket and lighted it; 
then as he threw away the match: 

“Well, don’t you think my chances of getting it are 
pretty good?” 

“Knowing exactly what you are thinking, I say no, 
that is, not without my help.” 

“Why not? I have always been well received by Miss 
Brent. I don’t think there is anyone who has a better 
chance, do you?” 

“No one but Arthur Durham,” replied Morris signif¬ 
icantly. 

“Durham? Oh, well, yes, he is good enough as boys 
go; but I’m not afraid of him. I never yet failed to get 
anything I started after.” 

“No?” sneered Morris, “but if I should tell Miss Brent 
the kind of a man you are—” 

“What do you mean?” asked Gage angrily. “I don’t 
see that I am different from the average man.” 

“Possibly not; but you should have learned by this 
time that Mary Brent is a whole lot different from the 
average girl. She has no more idea of what New York is 
like than a baby. Down where she came from they don’t 
look at things as we do here. Why, if she knew one-tenth 
of the things you do daily—and think they are right— 
she would consider you blacker—” 


MATTHEW BRENT 


117 


“By George, Morris,” exclaimed Gage starting to his 
feet, “that is why I like her. She is different from any 
woman I have ever met. I’d like the use of old Simon’s 
money; but, believe me, I’d rather have Mary Brent than 
every cent of it.” 

“Then help me to get this appointment,” said Morris 
also rising. 

Gage threw up his hands. “It can’t be done. The 
thing has gone too far.” 

“Tell that to the other fellow, I know better.” 

For several moments there was silence between them. 

“How can you help me?” Gage finally asked. 

“First, by keeping my mouth shut. Secondly, when it 
is decided that I am to go to Washington, I’ll see that 
you are put in my place here. That’ll put you on a 
confidential footing with the girl. The rest ought to be 
easy.” 

Gage removed the cigar from between his teeth and 
regarded the ashes thoughtfully. 

“It would seem so, wouldn’t it?” 

“If things are as you say.” % 

“Well, I think they are. Anyway it’s worth trying.” 

He arose and took a couple of turns about the office. 

“I’ll see what I can do about this Bowen matter,” and 
he ran his eyes over the tape that was rapidly falling into 
the basket. “The market will have to be played exactly 
right. Any slip may queer us both.” 

Morris smiled superciliously. “Leave that to me. I 
know my—” 

The outer door opened suddenly and Mary Brent, clad 
in furs and followed by Tippo-Tib, entered the room. 

So unexpected was her appearance that for the 
moment both men were speechless. To their guilty con¬ 
science, it seemed that she must have heard their plotting 
and come to accuse them. 


118 


MATTHEW BRENT 


The presence of Tippo-Tib added to their consterna¬ 
tion. 

Who and what he might be, they could not surmise. 

“Why, Miss Brent!” Morris finally managed to say, 
“Where—” 

His words were cut short by Mary. 

“Oh, Mr. Morris!” she exclaimed. “Have you seen 
anything of my grandfather?” 

Morris drew a long breath as he realized that she was 
not an accusing Nemesis. Still his surprise was great and 
his manner showed it as he replied: “Why, no. Were 
you expecting to find him here?” 

“Oh, I don’t know what I expected,” and she fairly 
wrung her hands in anxiety. “I had hoped he might 
have found his way here. He left the house early this 
morning, telling Tippo-Tib he was going to take a walk. 
Where do you think he can be?” 

“Right here, Mary! Right here!” came a familiar voice 
from the doorway. 

All eyes were turned in the direction of the voice, where 
they beheld a cleanly-shaven, middle aged gentleman, 
wearing a silk hat and carrying a fur-lined overcoat on 
his arm. 

“Yes, Mary, here I am. Don’t you think I know New 
York well enough to take care of myself?” 


CHAPTER XII 


F OR a moment after Matthew made his appearance in 
his changed attire Mary stood speechless, while 
Tippo-Tib gazed upon him much in the same manner as 
does the terrier gazing into the phonograph; he knew 
his master’s voice if not his face. 

Mary was the first to grasp the situation. 

“Daddy!” she exclaimed, throwing up her hands in 
astonishment. “What have you done to yourself? Where 
are your whiskers ?” 

“Gone,” replied Matthew solemnly as he removed his 
hat and advanced into the room. “Gone with the 
sombrero. I have been taking some advice.” 

He disposed of his overcoat, and turning to Mary, 
asked: 

“Which of these is Mr. Morris?” 

“This is Mr. Morris, Daddy,” she replied, presenting 
that gentleman, “and this,” turning to the other, “is Mr. 
Gage, a friend of Uncle Simon.” 

“Glad to meet you, Mr. Morris ! Glad to meet you, Mr. 
Gage,” and Matthew shook hands effusively with both gen¬ 
tlemen. “Glad to meet you both. New York has surely 
growm some in fifty years.” 

The two men exchanged amused glances and Gage 
replied with his best political smile: 

“I’m certainly pleased to meet you, Mr. Brent; both 
you and your charming granddaughter. I believe New 
York was formerly your home?” 

119 


120 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“Oh, yes,” replied Matthew, “I lived here for quite a 
while. I was a reporter on the Tri-bune, Horace Greeley’s 
paper, you know. Great man, Greeley. Did you ever 
know him?” 

Gage laughed heartily. 

“No. I think I was born about the time Greeley died.” 
Then, as he started toward the door: “But I must get 
over on ’Change. I suppose you’ll keep your brother’s 
seat, Mr. Brent?” 

“Seat I” exclaimed Matthew in surprise. “Seat— 
seat—why, what seat ?” 

“He means your seat on ’Change,” explained Morris. 

“Oh, yes, oh, yes,” said Matthew brusquely. “I shall 
want a seat—” 

“If you don’t,” interrupted Gage, “I shall be glad to 
take it off your hands. There’s a standing offer of forty 
thousand dollars for it.” 

Matthew looked first at Gage and then at Mary. 

“Forty thousand dollars?” he finally exclaimed. 
“Forty thousand dollars for a seat. I’ll sell all the 
furniture in the office for one-tenth that.” 

A general laugh followed. 

“Your seat, Mr. Brent,” explained Morris, “means 
your membership on ’Change.” 

Matthew’s face flushed and he manifested considerable 
confusion. 

“Oh, yes,” he said after a pause, “I’d forgotten. Of 
course I knew that.” Then to Gage with a laugh: “No, 
I don’t think I’ll sell just yet. I’ll keep it for a while.” 

Aside to Mary he said: “I’m pretty old-fashioned, 
ain’t I? But I told you how it would be.” 

“A few old-fashioned men are needed,” said Gage, who 
overheard the side remark. “We’ll talk about the seat 
later,” and he bowed himself out of the office. 

“Well, I guess I’m old-fashioned enough to suit him,” 


MATTHEW BRENT 


121 


Matthew laughed. “What are you doing here, Mary?” 
and the old man turned again to his granddaughter. 

“I came to look after you.” 

“Oh, I don’t need any looking after—not now,” he 
added as an afterthought, “but I’ll have to admit I wasn’t 
so certain of it when I first left the house. Why, I had no 
idea that New York would ever grow away out the other 
side of Harlem river. No, sir.” 

“Harlem is pretty well down town now,” said Morris. 

“But how did you find your way, Daddy ?” asked Mary. 

“Well, it’s a funny thing. You see I was strolling 
along trying to locate myself and looking at the different 
kinds of street cars—especially the horseless carriages— 
when I noticed a big bridge. In a minute I saw a train of 
cars going across it. I couldn’t see where they came 
from, nor where they went; so I asked a policeman what 
railroad it was. ‘It’s the subway,’ says he. ‘Subway’? 
says I thinking he must be joking. ‘I thought it was one 
of the elevated roads I’ve been told about. How can the 
subway be away up in the air like that?’ ‘It’s the way 
it’s built,’ says he. 

“I didn’t say anything, because I didn’t want to appear 
‘green,’ so I just went over and examined it. There was a 
milkman standing in front of a store and I asked him if 
those cars would take me to Park Row. ‘Oh, yes,’ says 
he, ‘take an express and get off at the bridge.’ I started 
to climb the stairs and the first thing I knew the whole 
stairway was going up too. I came pretty near getting 
off, but I’d seen so many strange sights I thought it must 
be all right and so I just stuck on. 

“I took the first train that came along. In a minute 
we were in a tunnel. Well, I guess you know the rest. 
They finally came to the end of the road and I got off and 
followed the crowd upstairs. Then I surely was lost. 
Why, do you know,” and he emphasized each word, “the 


122 


MATTHEW BRENT 


only thing I could see that looked like it did fifty years 
ago was a little patch of green grass. I guess grass 
always will be grass, even in New York.” 

“After this you’d better stick to your automobile,” 
suggested Morris. “It’ll be easier and quicker.” 

“I don’t know about the quicker,” laughed Matthew. 
“We certainly did come fast through that tunnel; but 
your—” 

A clerk entered and handed Morris a telegram which he 
read hastily. 

“Take this message,” he said, while Matthew regarded 
him in surprise. 

The clerk opened his notebook. 

“Allen & Stone, Chicago. Replying to your enquiry, 
the cable address is—” 

He stopped meditatively. 

“I’ll have to consult my memorandum. Come into my 
office,” and he abruptly left the room followed by the 
clerk, leaving Matthew with his speech still unfinished. 

“Mr. Morris is a pretty busy man since Uncle Simon 
died,” explained Mary as the two men disappeared. 

“More busy than polite,” replied Matthew. “He might 
have said: ‘Excuse me.’ ” 

“I don’t believe they ever think of saying such things 
in business offices, Daddy. I never heard them.” 

“Maybe you haven’t seen much of business.” 

“Not a great deal; but I used to come here frequently 
to see Uncle Simon.” 

“How did he talk to people—to Mr. Morris, for 
instance?” asked Matthew with much interest. 

“Not much like you, Daddy. Uncle Simon was 
rather—rather—well, rather—” 

“Positive,” suggested Matthew. 

Mary laughed. “Well, yes, only I was going to use a 
little stronger word. He just gave orders.” 


MATTHEW BRENT 


123 


“Uh, huh!” exclaimed Matthew and he slowly rubbed 
his freshly shaven chin. “I wonder what he would have 
said about this?” 

He opened the paper he carried in his hand and laid it 
on the desk. 

“What is it?” 

“It’s something I don’t approve of; but you wouldn’t 
understand. I’d like to speak to Mr. Morris about it.” 

“Well, why don’t you?” 

“I’d hate to hurt his feelings. You see it might not be 
his fault,” explained Matthew. 

“It wouldn’t do any harm to speak to him, would it?” 
queried Mary. “You’re not afraid of him, are you?” 

“Afraid!” Matthew’s eyes snapped and he drew himself 
to his full height. “Mary, I was never afraid of anybody 
or anything in my life—except to do wrong. I would be 
afraid to do wrong, and that’s why I kind o’ don’t like to 
speak to Mr. Morris about this matter. He’s so dignified, 
he doesn’t look as though he could be unkind. But of 
course you can’t always tell. I wish Arthur was here.” 

Mary laughed outright. 

“Nonsense, Daddy. Do just as Uncle Simon used to. 
It’s your business to know about everything connected 
with the estate. Here comes Mr. Morris now. I’ll leave 
you with him and I shall not worry about you any more. 
I see you are able to take care of yourself.” 

“With a little help,” added Matthew grimly as he 
turned toward the door through which Morris w r as 
returning, followed by Billy. 

“I suppose you know William, don’t you, Mary?” 
Matthew asked as he caught sight of the boy. “He tells 
me he’s to be my secretary.” 

“Yes, indeed,” she replied gaily. “Billy and I are good 
friends, aren’t we, Billy?” 

Billy’s face grew red and for once in his life his voice 


124 


MATTHEW BRENT 


failed him as Mary continued: “If you can spare Billy, 
Mr. Morris, Pm going to ask him to put me and Tippo-Tib 
into my car.” She crossed to the door: “Now, don’t 
work too hard, Daddy, and I’ll call for you in a couple of 
hours. 

“Come, Tippo-Tib,” she said in Tonganese, turning to 
the Islander who had been diligently polishing the brass 
buttons of his overcoat with the tail of the garment; “the 
father won’t need you this morning.” 

Left alone with Morris, Matthew seated himself at the 
desk. 

“Bright boy, that,” he remarked indicating Billy. 

“Oh, yes,” replied Morris indifferently, “I have found 
him so.” 

“And quite a newspaper, this?” indicating the Planet 
spread out on the desk. 

“I believe it ranks with the best.” 

“Glad to hear it. Glad to hear it,” said Matthew. 
“I’m much interested in newspapers. Let’s see—I believe 
I mentioned the fact that I worked on the Tri-bune fifty 
years ago. Greeley’s paper. Great man, Greeley. Ever 
met him?” 

“No, sir,” replied Morris stiffly, “I never did; but I re¬ 
turned to say that I trust you will excuse me this morning. 
I am very busy and unless you have something which you 
especially wish to say to me, I should like to postpone our 
first interview until tomorrow. Naturally, there are a 
great many things you would like to know, which I have 
not the time to tell you now.” 

He turned as though to depart, but Matthew, with an 
air of grim determination detained him, saying with some 
hesitation: “Excuse me, Mr. Morris, but there is one 
matter which I would like to discuss right now.” 

Morris turned and regarded Matthew with mingled 
astonishment and anger. 


MATTHEW BRENT 


125 


“Unless it is very important,” he began when Matthew 
interrupted him with: 

“It is very important, Mr. Morris—that is, it seems so 
to me. Won’t you be seated?” 

There was that in Matthew’s voice which, though 
gentle, brooked no refusal and Morris sank into a chair 
with a decided air of disgust. 

If Matthew noticed his manner he gave no evidence of it 
as he cast his eyes on the paper before him. 

“The matter about which I wish some information, Mr. 
Morris, has to do with the Planet. I am told it is one of 
the properties belonging to my brother’s estate.” 

Morris indicated a little more interest. 

“Your information is quite correct,” he said. 

“Do you have anything to do with its management, Mr. 
Morris ?” 

Morris shook his head. 

“Not directly. Mr. Duvall is its publisher and is 
responsible for its policies.” 

“I see. Could I have a talk with Mr. Duvall?” 

“Certainly! We are all in the same building. I’ll ask 
him to come up,” and Morris picked up the phone. 

“No, don’t do that!” exclaimed Matthew as he raised his 
hand. “Suppose we go and see him.” 

“Oh, very well,” replied Morris as he set down the 
instrument. “It makes no difference to me.” 

Matthew slowly folded his paper and arose from his 
chair. 

“I don’t suppose you take much interest in politics?” 
he remarked as they prepared to leave the room. 
“Business men did not when I was a reporter.” 

“Only in a business way,” was Morris’s rather ambigu¬ 
ous reply. 

“Then I don’t suppose you know much about this 
Alexander Bowen I see mentioned in the Planet .” 


126 


MATTHEW BRENT 


Morris eyed Matthew as though he would read his 
thoughts. 

“I know he is the president of the Cosmopolitan Bank,” 
he finally said. 

“Uh, huh!” ejaculated Matthew. “Honest man, I 
suppose—as bankers go?” 

“Undoubtedly.” 

“Good citizen?” 

“So far as I know.” 

“Successful financier?” 

“Oh, yes,” replied Morris, getting a bit nervous; “but I 
think Mr. Duvall can give you more definite information,” 
and he led the way to the elevator. 

“I’d forgotten there was such a thing as an elevator,” 
laughed Matthew as they entered it, “and I walked up.” 

Morris smiled sarcastically: 

“I expect you will find you have forgotten a good many 
things. You’d better go a little slow at first.” 

Whatever Matthew thought of the advice, he made no 
reply. 

Mr. Duvall was glad to see them—at least he professed 
to be. It would not be surprising, however, if he were a 
little disturbed—for Matthew’s arrival might mean a 
great change, a change which would be far from pleasing 
to a man who had been in almost absolute charge of a 
great metropolitan daily for several years. 

“I am glad to know you,” was Matthew’s reply, made 
to the introduction by Morris. “I am glad to meet a 
modern newspaper man. You know I was a newspaper 
man myself.” 

“I knew }^ou were an author,” was Duvall’s diplomatic 
reply, “but I am not sure I knew about your newspaper 
work.” 

“Oh, yes,” continued Matthew confidentially, “I was 
on the Tri-bune fifty years ago. Greeley’s paper. Great 


MATTHEW BRENT 


127 


man, Greeley. Ever meet him?” Then as he noted 
Duvall’s somewhat youthful face: “I suppose not. I 
forgot how old I am.” 

“Perhaps you would like to look about the Planet?” 
suggested Duvall. “It might interest you to see how a 
modern newspaper is conducted.” 

“Quite different from what it was when I was on the 
Tri-bune, I expect,” laughed Matthew as he accepted the 
invitation to look around. 

Duvall led the way, followed by Matthew and Morris— 
the latter having the wisdom to see that this was no time 
to lose sight of the former. 

The tour of inspection started with the press room, 
where the great straight-line presses were running out the 
noon edition. To say that Matthew was astonished at 
their size and the rapidity with which they turned out a 
paper folded and ready for the newsboys, would be but a 
mild way of stating his amazement. 

“It doesn’t seem possible!” he exclaimed time and time 
again. “Now, if some one would only invent a machine 
for setting type it would appear that the limit of 
mechanical printing had been reached. “But,” he added, 
“I do not suppose any one ever will.” 

Duvall smiled. “It doesn’t seem possible, does it? But 
suppose we go up to the composing room and see what you 
think of the changes there.” 

When they stepped into the large, airy room, with its 
enormous battery of something like fifty linotypes, 
Matthew stopped short in amazement—first at the un¬ 
usual noise and then at sight of the great machines. 

“What are they?” he finally managed to ask. 

“Typesetting machines,” replied Duvall, greatly 
enjoying Matthew’s astonishment. “They have been in 
use more than twenty-five years.” 

“Is it possible?” was the only comment Matthew was 


128 


MATTHEW BRENT 


able to make, and for the next five minutes he was com¬ 
pletely absorbed in the machines and their work. 

“Wonderful! Wonderful!” he exclaimed, as he finally 
tore himself away. 

“And yet, how simple. Surely the world does move.” 

In the editorial department Matthew was even more 
interested, although not so greatly surprised. 

“Of course you have the Associated Press reports?” he 
asked as they seated themselves in Duvall’s private office. 

“Oh, yes; but we depend upon them only for routine 
news. We have our own private telegraph wires, cables 
and wireless to all parts of the civilized world.” 

“Remarkable,” said Matthew. Then as he unfolded the 
paper he carried in his hand, “I do not see much telegraph 
news here.” 

Duvall could not repress a smile as he replied by way of 
explanation: “We do not run it as telegraph. It is 
pretty hard to think of any news today which has not a 
New York end, and so we use nearly everything as local. 
With the exception of the capital cities of the world, New 
York is interested in very little outside of New York. We 
have everything here, so why go outside?” 

For several minutes Matthew pondered over this state¬ 
ment and then replied quizzically: 

“From what I have seen the past two months, I should 
say there was considerable outside of New York. How¬ 
ever, if you are satisfied with a little island ten miles 
square, so am I. That’s just about the size of the one on 
which I live when I am home.” 

“Only there is not quite so much on it,” laughed Duvall. 

“Not so much brick and mortar,” was Matthew’s quick 
response, “but a great deal more happiness, I am sure.” 

“That depends,” observed Morris, somewhat contempt¬ 
uously, “upon what you call happiness. Solitude never 
had any attraction for me.” 


MATTHEW BRENT 


129 


“Then I would get out of New York at once,” promptly 
suggested Matthew. “I cannot conceive of a more 
lonesome place. How many real, true friends do you 
think Simon had?” 

Duvall and Morris exchanged glances. It was a 
question which needed no answer on their part. Evidently 
Matthew was nobody’s fool, even though he did not know 
that greater New York extended above the Harlem River 
and took in pretty much all Long Island. 

“I acquired a fair idea of the wireless coming up from 
Tonga on the steamboat,” said Matthew, “but I must 
come around some day and watch those typesetting ma¬ 
chines work. I wonder what Horace Greeley would say 
if he could see them.” 

“I have no doubt that he would be just as greatly 
surprised as you are. Modern journalism is a tremendous 
development,” was Duvall’s pacific rejoinder. 

“A tremendous development along some lines,” assented 
Matthew slowly, “but not in the character of the news. 
You continue to print the evil men do, rather than the 
good.” 

Duvall shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps; but it is 
what the public demands.” 

“I cannot believe it,” replied Matthew with a little more 
emphasis. “I do not believe the public demands any such 
questionable matter as this attack upon a successful 
citizen like Alexander Bowen.” 

If a bomb had been dropped at Duvall’s feet, it is 
doubtful if he would have been any more surprised. 

“Why-why-why,” he stammered, “that would hardly 
come under the head of news. You certainly remember 
enough of American methods to understand that is 
politics.” 

“Politics!” ejaculated Matthew. “Do you call that 
politics ?” 


130 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“Certainly! We do not care for Bowen. He is not 
friendly to our interests. We do not believe that his 
appointment would be for the good of the nation and its 
finances. Mr. Morris suggested that it would be just as 
well to head him off.” 

The frown on Matthew’s brow deepened as Duvall 
proceeded. 

“Head him off?” he finally exclaimed with great vehem¬ 
ence. “Head him off,” and he pointed to the editorial in 
question. “I call this assassination—this attempt to 
destroy confidence in the head of a great banking institu¬ 
tion, just because he doesn’t happen to agree with your 
ideas. Is that the way Simon did?” 

“Yes,” replied Morris sharply. “Your brother allowed 
no one to stand in his way. That was his policy.” 

Matthew’s reticence vanished as his anger arose, and he 
struck the desk sharply. 

“It is an outrageous policy,” he declared. “It was such 
attacks as this that killed Horace Greeley. No wonder 
Simon avowed himself a failure and left me to save his 
reputation. And I’ll do it! Yes,” starting suddenly to 
his feet. “I’ll do it! I think I’ll begin right here! Mr. 
Duvall, this statement must be denied.” 

While the command w^as addressed to Duvall, it was 
upon Morris that the blow fell hardest. His face became 
pallid and he clutched the arm of his chair with a death¬ 
like grip. He tried to speak, but his voice failed him. It 
was Duvall who first voiced the amazement Matthew’s 
words had created. 

“Denied?” he cried in consternation. “Denied? 
Impossible! It would kill the influence of the paper.” 

“Influence?” repeated Matthew. “Influence? Better 
no influence than influence for evil.” 

“But this is not influence for evil,” insisted Morris as 
he at last regained his voice. “It will harm no one to 


MATTHEW BRENT 


131 


keep Bowen out of the cabinet. There are many men 
who would fill the position much better.” 

“That is not the point at issue,” insisted Matthew, 
“You say in the Planet that business men have no confi¬ 
dence in Bowen. His success shows the statement to be a 
lie; and a lie is evil, no matter who utters it, or for what 
purpose.” 

“But there must be some reason for this slump in the 
market,” said Duvall. 

“There is I” asserted Morris emphatically. “The slump 
in the market is due entirely to lack of confidence in 
Bowen. Mr. Brent,” he continued impressively, “if you 
will come up to my office for just one hour, I shall be able 
to prove it to you.” 

Matthew regarded him for some moments in silence. 

“I have no desire to misjudge any one,” he finally said 
much more mildly. “I’ll admit I may be mistaken. If I 
am, I shall be glad to have you prove it to me. Let us 
go up to your office at once, Mr. Morris.” 

This time Matthew led the way to the elevator. 


CHAPTER XIII 


EN Matthew and Morris again entered the Simon 



¥¥ Brent offices a great change had taken place in the 
conditions existing there. Instead of the quiet of the 
early morning hour, which had so impressed Matthew, 
there was about the place an atmosphere of electrically- 
charged activity and intense excitement. 

In the outer offices half a dozen stenographers and 
typewriters were busy getting out telegrams and letters 
dictated to them by a corresponding number of men in 
their shirt sleeves, who were dividing their time between 
stenographers, tickers and telephone booths. 

Messenger and telegraph boys were running in and out, 
apparently with no definite object in view, although each 
one appeared to know just what he was doing. 

Even the bookkeepers seemed imbued with the same 
feverish energy, and Matthew and Morris had no sooner 
entered than the latter was flooded with questions. 

“Things seem to be pretty busy today,” remarked 
Matthew as he stopped for a moment, while Morris 
glanced over the telegrams which one of the stenographers 
handed to him. 

“Well, yes, passibly so,” from Morris. “The flurry in 
the market is causing us a little extra work.” 

Then as he led the way toward what was once Simon 
Brent’s private office: “Suppose we go into your office, 
Mr. Brent. It will be more quiet and I shall be better able 
to explain to you what is going on.” 

“I expect you’re right, Mr. Morris,” replied Matthew 


132 


MATTHEW BRENT 


138 


as they entered and he seated himself in his brother’s big 
armchair. “The noise of all those clicking machines out 
there does upset one’s thoughts, I reckon; however, you 
have become used to it.” 

“Oh, yes,” and Morris stopped at the ticker and began 
reading the tape. 

“I remember when I was a boy and went to the district 
school,” remarked Matthew reminiscently, as he leaned 
comfortably back in his chair, “we had a teacher one 
winter who never kept any order. When the selectmen 
took him to task about it, he explained that he was trying 
to educate boys and girls to work out in the world, not in 
a church. I guess you must have gone to the same 
teacher.” 

“What’s that?” asked Morris, lifting his head, “I 
didn’t hear what you were saying.” 

“I said I used to go to a teacher—” 

Matthew’s explanation was interrupted by the hasty 
entrance of a messenger boy with a telegram. 

“Sign for it, Billy,” said Morris as he tore open the 
envelope and read it hastily. 

“No bad news, is there?” asked Matthew solicitously 
observing the proceedings with an air of concern. 

“Depends on what you call bad new T s,” was the abrupt 
reply. 

Then to Billy, who slid a sheet of paper into the type¬ 
writer: “Take this telegram: ‘Scott and Fiske; Chicago. 
Sell five thousand Atchison at ninety-four. Sign— 
Morris.’ ” 

“Did you say ninety-four?” queried Billy as his fingers 
flew over the keys. 

“Yes,” snapped Morris, “and no buyers at that. The 
bottom has simply dropped out of the stock market!” 

“You don’t say so!” ejaculated Matthew as he leaned 
eagerly forward over his desk. “And you think-—” 


134 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“Just what I told you before,” interrupted Morris. 
This entire situation has developed since Bowen was 
mentioned for the treasury.” 

Matthew’s face expressed the concern he felt. 

“And that isn’t all,” continued Morris. “The outlook 
is so bad that I determined last night we would either have 
to close our cotton mills, or reduce wages.” 

“My! My!” from Matthew, with still deeper concern. 
“That is too bad? Which did you decide to do?” 

“Reduce wages,” replied Morris, still reading the tape. 
“We don’t wish to throw the employes out of employment 
this cold weather.” 

“Quite right! Quite right!” 

“I’m glad you think so, Mr. Brent; but,” turning upon 
Matthew sharply, “what do you suppose was the result?” 

“I’m sure I don’t know. What?” 

Morris extracted a telegram from a batch he carried 
and handed it to Matthew. 

“What’s this?” exclaimed the old man, as he slowly 
perused it. “ ‘Employes will strike if wages are reduced.’ 
They must be crazy, this cold weather.” 

“They are, but they’ll do it. And there’s trouble in the 
mines, too.” 

Matthew arose from his chair and slowly approached 
Morris. “The mines!” he exclaimed. “What mines?” 

“Why, our mines, Mr. Brent. You knew your brother 
had mines, didn’t you?” 

“Oh, yes. Arthur and Mary explained to me coming 
up on the boat that Simon owned mines and factories and 
railroads and other things; but I didn’t suppose he had to 
manage them. I thought—well I don’t know exactly what 
I did think, Mr. Morris.” 

“That is very evident,” was Morris’s sneering retort. 
“If you want my real opinion, it is that you haven’t 
thought at all. 


MATTHEW BRENT 


135 


Then, as Matthew made no reply, he continued: “You 
will find, Mr. Brent, that there are very few lines of 
industry in which your brother was not interested. I 
am afraid you are going to find the settling of his estate 
a pretty big undertaking.” 

The truth of the remark was so apparent, that 
Matthew plunged his hands into his pockets and stood 
with bowed head for several minutes, ere he replied: “I 
am afraid I shall; but I am here to do it, and do it I will. 
Now what—” 

His question was interrupted by another messenger boy 
and a couple of clerks, each with a matter for Morris’s 
personal attention. No sooner had they left than the 
telephone bell rang and other messengers entered. 

Matthew tried his best to keep up with all that was 
going on around him; but about all he was able to 
accomplish was to keep out of the way of the procession of 
clerks and messengers, which continued to rush in and out 
of the office. Half a dozen times he tried to speak to 
Morris, but without avail. Finally he seated himself in 
his big armchair and silently watched the activity of 
which he was in the very midst and still had no part. 

While thus engaged Duvall hastily entered. 

“Here’s a nice piece of news,” he announced, approach¬ 
ing Morris. 

“What’s that?” 

“The spinners at the Squantuck mills have struck.” 

“I expected it,” declared Morris. “ Additional 

proof—” 

“Mr. Scanned, from the mayor’s office,” announced a 
clerk, interrupting Morris. 

“Who?” asked Morris turning sharply. 

“Mr. Scanned. The mayor’s private secretary.” 

“Ted him to wait until after luncheon. I’m too busy 
now to bother with city officials.” 


136 


MATTHEW BRENT 


He turned back to Duvall. “No, I’m not surprised at 
the strike. It is simply another proof of lack of 
confidence in Bowen. What do the spinners want?” 

“The old scale.” 

“How much is that?” Matthew finally managed to ask 
as he leaned forward over his desk. 

“Fifty cents an hour,” replied Morris. “How have 
you handled the news, Duvall?” 

“Ran out an ‘Extra’ and laid the whole trouble to 
Bowen.” 

“Good!” was the approving reply. 

“It looks very bad to me,” interrupted Matthew, rising 
to his feet. “Very bad! What influence could Bowen’s 
appointment possibly have upon conditions at a cotton 
mill?” 

Both Morris and Duvall cast upon him pitying glances, 
while Morris opened and read another bunch of telegrams. 

In the meantime Duvall answered Matthew’s question 
by saying: “I am afraid you do not understand the con¬ 
ditions of the day, Mr. Brent. The mention of Bowen 
for the treasury portfolio seems to have frightened the 
financial world. This condition is bound to effect the 
markets. A wage reduction is announced and the men, 
seeing only one side, strike. So you perceive the whole 
trouble is traceable to Bowen.” 

“Yes,” insisted Morris, “and the situation is getting 
worse. Read that,” and he tossed a telegram over to 
Duvall who read it slowly while Matthew eyed him expect¬ 
antly. 

“Bad! Bad!” said Duvall handing the message back 
to Morris without enlightening Matthew as to its 
purport. 

“I should say so! And look at this!” 

He held out the tape which was slowly unwinding. 

Matthew tried to look, but could not see anything 


MATTHEW BRENT 


137 


because of Duvall, who took the tape in his hand and 
read: “General Electric, one fifty. Why,” he exclaimed, 
“that’s a decline of nine points since the opening.” 

“Exactly,” replied Morris, “and I predict it will go 
to forty.” 

Duvall uttered an exclamation of consternation. “That 
would mean a panic,” he declared. 

“A panic?” repeated Matthew in great excitement. 
“You don’t mean it? I remember the panic of fifty-nine 
and I wouldn’t want anything like that to happen again.” 

“It surely will,” said Morris, “unless Bowen’s name is 
withdrawn. Here, listen to this,” and he read from the 
tape: 

“Taylor and Brown announce their inability to carry 
out their contracts. That’s the first failure, and there 
will be more.” 

Matthew shook his head slowly. “And you really 
think the possibility of Bowen’s appointment is the 
cause?” he asked. 

“Undoubtedly.” 

Matthew unbuttoned his coat and ran his hands 
through his hair. 

“It may be,” he finally said. “I’ll admit I am not 
much of a financier and—” 

“It is just as Mr. Duvall explained,” interrupted 
Morris. “Money is very sensitive.” 

Matthew shrugged his shoulders. “Mine always has 
been,” he said grimly, “but I always laid its timidity to 
its smallness. Small people—” 

“You must begin to see, Mr. Brent,” continued Morris 
without paying any attention to the old man’s jocularity, 
“that the Planet was right. I think you will make a 
great mistake if you attempt to interfere.” 

Matthew drew a long breath. “Maybe, maybe,” he 
sighed. “I’ll admit I am not thoroughly posted—,” and 


138 


MATTHEW BRENT 


he paused reflectively. “But I had hoped to have some 
one here who was. I had hoped—” 

Even as he spoke the outer door opened and Arthur 
Durham entered. No sooner did Matthew catch sight of 
him than he advanced to meet him. 

“My dear boy,” he exclaimed as he extended both 
hands, “I surely am glad to see you. I was just telling 
Mr. Morris that I had hoped—” 

“Excuse me,” Durham interrupted as he drew back and 
regarded Matthew suspiciously. “You have the advan¬ 
tage. I don’t believe I have had the honor of meeting 
you.” 

“What!” stammered Matthew. “You don’t know me. 
Well, as Horace Greeley would say—” 

“Mr. Brent!” exclaimed Durham, as he seized both the 
outstretched hands. “What have you been doing to 
yourself? Where are your whiskers?” 

“Well, well, I declare!” ejaculated Matthew. “In the 
excitement of business I clean forgot about the whiskers,” 
and he threw back his head and laughed heartily, while 
Morris and Duvall regarded the pair with looks of 
astonishment. 

“Your own granddaughter wouldn’t know you,” 
declared Durham. 

“You’re right about that,” laughed Matthew. “She 
didn’t; but how do you like my looks?” 

“Immensely. It’s a wonderful improvement. I wouldn’t 
have believed it.” Then as Matthew subsided into a 
chuckle: “I am sorry I was so late; but I got mixed up in 
the flurry—” 

“So did I,” interrupted Matthew, “and I’m not un¬ 
mixed yet. I was hoping you would come in and 
straighten me out. You know,” he added confidentially, 
“I never would have undertaken this job if you hadn’t 
promised to help me. I need help right now.” 


MATTHEW BRENT 


139 


“Well,” laughing, “here I am. What can I do?” 

“Of course you understand all about the flurry?” 

“I should say I did,” replied Durham. “The bottom 
has simply dropped out of the market.” 

“That is just what we have been trying to explain to 
Mr. Brent,” Morris interjected, “but he still thinks there 
is no lack of confidence—” 

“I didn’t say that,” quickly interrupted Matthew. “I 
said I didn’t know; but Mr. Durham does and he will 
tell us all about it—won’t you Arthur?” 

“I should say so. If we hadn’t been strong in our 
industrials, we should be in a pretty mess.” 

“What do you mean?” queried Matthew. 

“I mean we should have gone to the wall; that’s what 
I mean.” 

“Just as I told Mr. Brent,” said Duvall. “Anybody 
at all farailiar with financial affairs can see what a ser¬ 
ious matter this lack of confidence in Bowen is becoming.” 

“Lack of confidence in Bowen!” exclaimed Durham in 
surprise. 

“Exactly,” replied Morris. “The whole trouble is 
lack of confidence in Bowen,” and he turned to leave the 
office. 

Durham started forward: “That is not so, Mr. 
Morris,” he said emphatically, “and you know it!” 

“What!” And Morris wheeled upon him fiercely. “Do 
you mean—?” 

“I mean just what I say!” interrupted Durham. “The 
trouble is not due to lack of confidence in Bowen and 
you know it.” 

“Then what is the trouble?” asked Matthew impa¬ 
tiently. “What is the trouble, Arthur?” 

“The trouble is,” replied Arthur fixing his eyes stead¬ 
fastly upon Morris, “that the Simon Brent estate has 
called in its loans and then—with money in the most 


140 


MATTHEW BRENT 


urgent demand—has dumped enough high class securities 
on the market to create panic prices. That’s the trouble, 
Mr. Brent, and Mr. Morris knows it.” 

While Durham had been speaking the expression on 
Matthew’s face had changed from bewilderment to one of 
quick understanding. The explanation was so plain that, 
although he had been out of the world for half a century, 
he could not fail to see its correctness. For a minute 
or more he was silent. Then he said in a stern voice: 

“You have heard what Mr. Durham says, Mr. Morris. 
Is the statement true?” 

“Partially, but—” 

“Why did you do it?” insisted Matthew without wait¬ 
ing for any further explanations. 

“Because,” answered Morris defiantly, “I have no con¬ 
fidence in Bowen. He is not fit for the place.” 

“Oh, you have no confidence!” exclaimed Matthew. “I 
see. Perhaps you prefer someone else?” 

Morris started: “I could name several if I had to, 
but—” 

“Bowen has nothing to do with it,” reiterated Durham. 
“It is just an effort to run a big corner.” 

Morris turned upon him with an impatient gesture. 

“You are most too young a man,” he said insolently, 
“to oppose your opinions to one of the oldest men on the 
street. You may convince a man from the other side of 
the world that you are right; but with others your 
opinion will carry little weight. I know whereof I speak 
and I tell you this demoralization of the market is due 
entirely to lack of confidence in Bowmen.” 

“Lack of confidence by whom?” insisted Durham. 

“Why, by Mr. Morris,” replied Matthew. “Didn’t 
you just hear him say so?” 

Morris bit his lip while Matthew, rubbing his smooth 
chin continued slowly: “As Horace Greeley would say— 


MATTHEW BRENT 


141 


I begin to see the nigger in the woodpile.” Then still 
more slowly: “How would it do, Arthur, if we should 
offer to buy a few good securities? Isn’t that the 
usual—” 

“What?” interrupted Morris turning fiercely upon 
Matthew. “Buy?” 

“That’s what I said, Mr. Morris—buy,” and Matthew 
looked him squarely in the eye. “What do you think, 
Arthur?” 

“I think it would be a great help.” Then, as an after 
thought: “And you' might be able to make a few dollars 
besides.” 

Matthew started. “I had not thought of that,” he 
said as he slowly nodded his head. “That is certainly a 
great obstacle. I never believed in making money in that 
way.” 

For several minutes he pondered deeply. 

“Yes,” he finally repeated, “I do not like to make 
money in that, way; but it would help to avert a panic—” 

“Mr. Brent,” interrupted Morris, “we are not in a 
position to buy.” 

“How about those called loans ?” quickly queried 
Durham. 

“Yes, Mr. Morris,” echoed Matthew, “how about those 
called loans? How much do they amount to?” 

“Very little,” was the curt response. “Not more than 
eight or ten million dollars.” 

Matthew’s face grew pale and he grasped the desk for 
support. 

“What?” he fairly shouted. “Ten million dollars in 
cash? Ten million dollars to put in the bank?” 

“More or less,” snapped Morris. 

For a moment it seemed as if the aged man would suc¬ 
cumb to the shock of the information. Durham stepped 
quickly forward to support him. In an instant, however, 


142 


MATTHEW BRENT 


he regained his equilibrium and motioned the young man 
away as he exclaimed in a hoarse voice: 

“Ten million dollars to be doing no one any good! 
Infamous! Infamous!” 

Then straightening himself to his full height he waved 
his arms excitedly as he commanded: 

“Loan it! Spend it! Give it away! Anything to get 
it into circulation!” 


CHAPTER XIV 

T O DESCRIBE the expression on the faces of Morris 
and Duvall at Matthew’s outburst would be impos¬ 
sible. They regarded each other in the utmost surprise, 
Duvall remarking under his breath: 

“The man is insane. He ought to be confined.” 

The sentiment was silently, but unquestionably en¬ 
dorsed, not only by Morris, but by Billy, who stood with 
wdde-opened mouth and eyes, unable to account for such 
sentiment. 

The only one not affected by the outburst was Dur¬ 
ham, whose few weeks acquaintance with Matthew had 
put him into a position to understand his views. 

“I think, Mr. Brent,” he finally said, “if you would 
simply offer to re-loan the money at a fair rate, cancel 
the selling orders, and issue buying orders all along the 
line, it would be sufficient for the present. It is not 
easy to hand out ten million dollars where they would 
bring about the best results.” 

Matthew regarded the speaker earnestly for several 
minutes. 

“I expect you’re right,” he finally said. “Yes, that’s 
what we’ll do.” 

Turning to Morris who stood glaring at Durham he 
said: “Will you please give orders to that effect, Mr. 
Morris.” 

“No, sir!” replied Morris angrily. “I will not. It would 
be madness.” 


143 


144? 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“What?” exclaimed Matthew in manner that reminded 
Durham of the stand the old man had taken in regard 
to the Portuguese sailor. “You refuse to do as I tell you? 
Don’t you know I am in command here?” 

“If you are not, you soon will be,” admitted Morris 
with a snarl; “and if you want to give such orders, you 
may. I will not.” 

For just a moment Matthew glanced from one to an¬ 
other of those present. Then turning to the desk, with 
grim determination he hastily picked up the telephone. 

“I have never had the nerve to tackle this thing before,” 
he said to Durham, “but now the time has come.” Then 
as he heard the operator’s voice in his ear asking: “What 
number?” he replied, “I don’t want any number. I want 
the bank that’s got our ten million dollars. Huh? How 
do I know the number? I’m Matthew Brent. Oh, you 
know me, do you? That’s good; but I don’t remember 
your voice. Maybe, if I could see you—oh, you’re Miss 
Bright, the operator. Glad to meet you, Miss Bright. 
Say, do you know where our ten million dollars is—” 

“Mr. Brent,” interrupted Morris, “you’re making a 
fool of yourself.” 

“What’s that?” exclaimed Matthew still holding the 
phone to his mouth, “a fool! I want you to understand—” 
Then as the operator’s voice came again to his ear: “No, 
no, not you, Miss Bright! Not you!” 

In spite of the seriousness of the situation Durham was 
so convulsed with laughter that he was unable to control 
himself. At this point, however, he touched Matthew on 
the shoulder. 

“That’s only the telephone girl, Mr. Brent,” he ex¬ 
plained. “She doesn’t know anything about the business.” 

“What? She talked as though she did.” 

“They all do that!” declared Billy, who had been an 
interested auditor. 


MATTHEW BRENT 


145 


Matthew turned upon them a knowing look as he slowly 
replaced the telephone on the desk. 

“O course, Arthur, if you say so, you know; but there 
must be some way of getting this order issued.” 

“There is, Mr. Brent, and if no one else will give the 
order for you, I will. I am sure, however,” he added, 
with a significant glance at the would-be cabinet officer, 
“that if Mr. Morris will stop to consider the matter for 
a moment, he will think better of it. He surely wouldn’t 
want the Street talking office secrets.” 

Morris’s face flushed and his hands clutched convul¬ 
sively, although he replied in a comparatively calm voice: 

“I suppose if Mr. Brent has made up his mind to 
throw away his money, the sooner it is done the better. 
I’ll give the order,” and he quitted the room followed by 
Duvall. 

“Now, then,” said Matthew to Durham as they were 
left alone in the office, “what else can we do to straighten 
this out?” He pulled off his coat and threw it upon 
the desk. “It’s hot work, I can see; but if I have got to 
manage this business, the sooner I begin the better. Could 
I send a telegram?” 

“Sure,” replied Durham, as he busied himself at the 
ticker. “Give it to Billy.” 

“I will, but I haven’t written it yet.” 

“I’ll write it on the machine,” said Billy. 

“Oh, yes; I hadn’t thought of that.” Then, as he 
pulled up his sleeves: 

“Just say,” began Matthew slowly, “that the—” 

“Who is it to?” interrupted Billy. 

“Certainly. I beg your pardon. I forgot. It is to 
our mills at Squantuck.” 

Billy gave the typewriter a few swift strokes. 

“Say,” again began Matthew, “say—say—Superin¬ 
tendent of Squantuck Mills.” He paused reflectively. 


14.6 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“Yes,” he continued, “Superintendent of the Squantuck 
Cotton Mills—Have you got that down?” 

“Here you are, Mr. Brent,” interrupted Durham. “Evi¬ 
dently your first order has been received. The money 
market has eased off three-fourths of a cent.” 

“You don’t say so!” exclaimed Matthew, crossing 
over from the typewriter to the ticker. “Let’s see!’ and 
he looked over Durham’s shoulder with great eagerness. 

“There it is,” said Durham showing him the tape. 
“Call money two and one-half.” 

Matthew ran his hands through his hair reflectively. 

“That’s better, I suppose. Still it seems high. You 
really think it will help, do you?” 

“It surely will,” and Durham watched the unwinding 
tape, while Matthew resumed his dictation. 

“Let’s see,” he said, “where was I? Oh, yes, Superin¬ 
tendent of the Squantuck Cotton Mills:—” He untied 
his neckties. “It’s mighty warm here, William. Can’t 
you cool it off a little? Where’s the stove?” 

“There ain’t no stove,” laughed Billy. “It’s steam.” 

“Great Scott, you don’t say so. Well! Well! Let’s 
see. Where was I again?” 

“You got as far as the Squantuck Mills.” 

“Here it comes, Mr. Brent,” again interrupted Dur¬ 
ham. “Pennsylvania one fifteen. General Electric one 
forty-five.” Then suddenly: “By George, it’s General 
Electric he’s after.” 

Matthew again crossed hurriedly to the ticker as a 
messenger opened the door. 

“Message for Mr. Morris,” sang out the boy. 

Matthew turned from the ticker. 

“What’s that?” he asked. 

“Message for Mr. Morris.” 

“Give it to me. I’m Mr. Morris right now.” 

The boy handed him the telegram and disappeared. 


MATTHEW BRENT 147 

while Matthew slowly opened and read: “Have wired 
Washington. Keep it up. Gage.” 

“Gage,” repeated Matthew, “Gage. That’s the man 
I met here this morning, wasn’t it, William?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Slowly Matthew reread the telegram. 

“Well,” declared Matthew, “I don’t know what it 
means. Let’s finish our telegram.” 

As Billy again prepared to write, Morris re-entered 
the office and stopped in astonishment at Matthew’s dis¬ 
heveled appearance. 

“Have you fixed it, Mr. Morris?” inquired Matthew. 

“If that’s what you call it,” was the surly reply. 

“Cancelled all selling orders?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Loaned all the ten million dollars?” 

“I have given orders to that effect.” 

“Well, then,” and he handed Morris the telegram, 
“you’d better attend to this. I don’t know what it 
means,” and once more Matthew turned to the typewriter. 

Morris glanced hastily at the message and without a 
word crumpled it in his hand. As he turned to leave the 
office with a look of hatred on his face, Matthew remarked 
to Billy: 

“Now, then, William, I’m going to finish this telegram. 
Superintendent of the Squantuck Cotton Mills: Tell the 
men that we have decided to restore the old scale of 
wages. Wait. Say we have decided to do better than 
that. We have decided to increase the wages ten percent.” 

“Preposterous!” exclaimed Morris, who had stopped in 
the doorway when Matthew began to dictate. 

Matthew turning upon him fiercely: 

“What ? Preposterous—with all that ten million lying 
aronud loose?” Then, as Morris disappeared: “William, 
read cie what I have said.” 


148 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“Superintendent, Squantuck Cotton Mills: Announce 
increase of ten percent over old scale. (Signed) Matthew 
Brent.” 

Matthew looked at him in surprise: “Is that all I said?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“I thought I said more than that.” 

“That’s all that counted,” declared Billy, as he pulled 
the paper from the machine with a flourish and left the 
office. 

“He’s right,” said Durham, as Matthew stood in the 
middle of the floor looking after Billy in mild surprise. 

Matthew turned at the sound of Durham’s voice and 
approached the ticker. 

“What’s the next thing?” he asked, wiping his forehead. 
“Oh, yes, William,” as Billy reentered the office. “Call 
up Mr. Duvall and tell him I want to see him right away.” 
Then to Durham: “How’s the market now?” 

“Better. Listen to this,” and Durham read from the 
tape: “Pennsylvania one twenty-two, General Electric one 
forty-four—the market’s getting stronger—Western 
Union seventy-eight.” Again, after a pause; “Pennsyl¬ 
vania one twenty-seven asked, one twenty-six bid; Gen¬ 
eral Electric one fifty-two asked, one fifty bid—that’s 
the end of the corner, Mr. Brent.” 

“I don’t believe it was a corner,” declared Matthew, 
as he rubbed his hands together in his excitement. “In 
fact I am sure it wasn’t. I just don’t exactly under¬ 
stand this financial-political game, but I think this flurry 
in the market is in some way or other connected with 
the Bowen appointment. You feel sure that the flurry 
is over, do you?” 

“It looks so,” turning from the tape, “and, in addition 
we’ve probably cleaned up fifty or sixty thousand 
dollars.” 

“You don’t say so!” exclaimed Matthew in surprise. 


MATTHEW BRENT 


149 


as he again rubbed his hands together. “Well, well, that 
wasn’t so bad for my first morning’s work,” and he felt 
of the place where his beard had formerly been. 

“But of course,” continued Durham in an amused 
tone, “you didn’t want to make it.” 

“Of course I did not—but,” Matthew paused reflec¬ 
tively and scratched his chin. 

“But in order to restore confidence,” suggested 
Durham. 

“That’s it exactly; to restore confidence—you think 
confidence is restored, don’t you?” 

“Practically.” 

“And that the lack of confidence was not in Bowen?” 

“Absolutely. It was simply a trick of Morris’s to 
squeeze the Street.” 

Matthew again scratched his chin. “That or some¬ 
thing worse, I think—” 

He was interrupted by the entrance of Duvall. 

“You sent for me, Mr. Brent?” with a shade of annoy¬ 
ance in his tone. 

“Yes, sir, I did. I want to tell you that my mind 
regarding the position of the Planet on this Bowen 
appointment is made up. In the next edition you will 
say there is every reason to believe that the appointment 
of Alexander Bowen to the portfolio of the treasury will 
be perfectly satisfactory to the—the—what’s the word, 
Arthur?” 

“You mean the financial interests.” 

“Yes, that’s it; to the financial interests. You think 
it will be, don’t you, Arthur?” 

“Perfectly.” 

“But, Mr. Brent,” began Duvall. 

“We’ll have no buts,” declared Matthew positively. 
“We’re a part of the financial interests, are we not?” 
again turning to Durham. 


150 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“A good big part,” was the laughing rejoinder. 

“So I begin to think,” declared Matthew quizzically, 
“and we’re well satisfied.” 

“But, Mr. Brent,” insisted Duvall. 

Matthew turned on him a look which was too much 
like his brother Simon’s to be be misunderstood. 

“There’s no chance for an argument, Mr. Duvall. See 
that this statement gets into the next edition—if you 
value your position. Good morning, sir.” 

Without a word Duvall left the room while Matthew 
threw himself into his big armchair. 

“Well, well,” he exclaimed with a deep sigh of relief 
as he pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead, 
“this is somewhat different from Tonga.” 

The familiar name awoke a train of thoughts, and his 
mind sped across the Pacific to his island home. Slowly 
he sank back in his chair and the hand which crumpled 
his handkerchief became motionless and dropped silently 
to the desk. 

“Tonga!” he mused softly. “I wonder if they miss 
me.” 

His eyes closed and for some moments he sat in quiet 
reverie, while Durham stood reading to himself the figures 
reeled off by the ceaseless ticker. 

From his delightful day-dream the old man was sud¬ 
denly awakened by Gilson Gage. He burst into the room 
like a cyclone and in a towering rage demanded: “Where’s 
Morris ?” 

So unexpected the interruption that Matthew sprang 
to his feet with a startled expression upon his face, 
exclaiming in a voice intended to be severe, but which 
plainly indicated his alarm: 

“What’s the matter? What’s happened now?” 


CHAPTER XV 


T HE appearance of Gilson Gage as he stood in the 
doorway was that of a man prepared to do some 
desperate deed. 

“Where’s Morris?” he again demanded, ignoring 
Matthew’s question. 

“Were you speaking to me?” asked Durham, slowly 
raising his eyes. 

“I am speaking to anyone who can answer.” Then as 
he advanced fiercely toward Matthew: “Do you know 
where Morris is?” 

“Oh, he’s around somewhere,” was the rejoinder as 
Matthew slowly resumed his composure and his seat. “As 
Horace Greeley used to say—” 

“Bah!” exclaimed Gage as he turned angrily away. 
“You’re a back number.” Then to Hilly 7 ', who was try¬ 
ing his best to appear busy at the typewriter: “Tell 
Morris I want to see him.” 

Billy was saved the trouble of either obeying or refus¬ 
ing to obey by the entrance of Morris, who came into 
the room with both hands full of papers. 

Gage approached him angrily and with clenched hands. 
“What are you trying to do?” he asked. “What does 
all this mean?” 

“Don’t ask me,” was the savage retort. 

“Of course, I’ll ask you. Who else should I ask ? Here 
I start to carry out our agreement, and before the first 
wire can reach Washington, the whole condition changes. 

151 


152 


MATTHEW BRENT 


You can’t play politics that way. What does it mean, 
I say?” 

At the word Washington, Matthew pricked up his ears. 

“Oho!” he said to himself, “So that was the Wash¬ 
ington referred to in the telegram! No wonder William 
didn’t know.” 

“What does it mean, Morris?” again demanded Gage 
sharply. 

“I tell you, I don’t know,” replied Morris. 

“Well, I’ve got to know. We don’t get a chance to 
name a cabinet officer every day. This is no child’s play.” 

Morris shrugged his shoulders. “I know that,” he 
ejaculated, “but there’s a child playing it.” 

The other men came toward him as one. “Do you 
mean me?” they exclaimed in unison. 

“I mean the man who is responsible for these orders, 
whoever he is,” retorted Morris. 

For a moment the four stood glaring at one another. 

The tension was broken by a telegraph messenger who 
entered hastily, exclaiming: “Telegram for Gilson Gage.” 

Gage took the envelope from the boy’s hand and tore 
it open. 

“It’s from the private secretary of the president¬ 
elect,” he exclaimed as he read it to Morris. “He wires: 
‘What’s the matter with Bowen? He looks good to me.’ ” 

“And he looks good to me!” declared Matthew, striking 
his right fist into the palm of his left hand. “He looks 
good to me, too.” 

“What do you know about it?” demanded Gage, turn¬ 
ing fiercely upon him. 

“I know enough to know he’s a good man,” was Mat¬ 
thew’s emphatic reply. 

Gage shrugged his shoulders. “What’s that got to 
do with it?”’ he asked. “We’ve decided upon someone 
else.” 


MATTHEW BRENT 


153 


“We?” exclaimed Durham. “I was informed that the 
financial interests had agreed upon Bowen.” 

“Oh, you were?” snapped Gage. “Well, we’ve changed 
our minds.” 

“We?” queried Matthew. “Who’s we?” 

“Well, Morris and I, if you want to know.” 

For a moment Matthew regarded the pair in surprise. 

Then he broke out vehemently: “Are you and Mr. 
Morris selecting a secretary of the treasury for the whole 
United States?” 

“Yes. Have you any objections?” 

Matthew was about to reply, but Durham interrupted : 
“It is very simple, Mr. Brent. The financial interests 
have been promised that they should have a voice in nam¬ 
ing the secretary of the treasury for the incoming admin¬ 
istration. Gage and Morris practically rule the Street.” 

Matthew regarded him in the utmost surprise. “Is 
that so?” he asked. “Is that so?” 

“Well, practically. The Simon Brent estate rules the 
Street, and this at present seems to be Mr. Morris.” 

Matthew nodded his head reflectively. 

“Uh huh!” he said under his breath. Aloud he asked: 
“Was this Simon’s method of doing business?” 

“So they say,” laughed Durham. 

Again Matthew nodded his head, while Morris ex¬ 
claimed angrily: “Mr. Brent, this is a matter entirely too 
big for you. You’re an old man and have lived away 
from America for years. You know nothing about my 
present day methods. If you will leave the matter in 
my hands—” 

“Never!” interrupted Matthew vehemently. “Never! 
I may be an old man and a back number, but I begin to 
see the power my brother wielded. If the Simon Brent 
estate is to name the new secretary of the treasury, I’ll 
take a hand in it.” 


154 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“What?” exclaimed the other three, “you’ll take a 
hand in it?” 

“Yes. Have you any objections?” and he thrust his 
thumbs in the armholes of his vest, and regarded Gage in 
a manner which said plainly: “The head of the Brent 
house has made up his mind.” 

Gage attempted to speak, but Matthew cut him short. 

“Yes,” he continued. “I have decided to take a hand 
in this; and if I have any influence, the name of the new 
secretary of the treasury will be Alexander Bowen.” 
Then after a pause: “But what I don’t see, Arthur, is 
this. How is it possible for Simon, or his estate to do 
this? What is the power by which he was not only able 
to control the financial world, but to influence the gov¬ 
ernment as well?” 

“Why,” replied Durham, “the power of money, to be 
sure.” 

“Yes, yes,” declared Matthew hastily. “I know that 
money is a power; but it is not vested in any one man.” 

The other three exchanged significant glances, which 
impelled Matthew to ask: “By the way, Mr. Morris, what 
is the value of my brother’s estate?” 

Morris shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t tell you.” 

“Can’t tell me? Why not? Why not? I have a right 
to know!” 

“No one knows,” declared Morris. “He didn’t know 
himself. Several hundred million. With the money he 
controls for others, it may be a billion.” 

For the second time that morning, Matthew’s face 
blanched and he grasped the back of a chair for support. 

“A billion dollars!” he gasped. “A billion dollars!” 

He bowed his head and stood a trembling figure, as 
Mary entered. 

“Poor Simon!” he muttered. “Poor Simon!” What 
crimes he must have committed!” 


MATTHEW BRENT 


155 


“Crimes!” exclaimed all who heard him, while Mary 
sprang forward and grasped him by the arm. 

“Daddy!” she exclaimed. “What are you saying? 
Who do you mean?” 

“Your Uncle Simon! What a criminal he must have 
been!” and his voice became more sorrowful with each 
word. “No man could honestly make that sum in a 
lifetime, and Simon started without a cent.” 

Gage turned away with a look of deep disgust upon his 
face, while Morris with an emphatic gesture exclaimed: 

“I told you, Mr. Brent, that you didn’t understand 
modern business methods, nor their magnitude; and you 
don’t.” 

“No, thank God, I don’t!” replied Matthew unable to 
conceal his emotion; “and I don’t want to—if you call 
such methods as these business.” 

Then to a messenger who entered the door at that 
moment with a handful of telegrams: “Take them away! 
Take them away! We don’t want them!” 

“But the estate must be looked after, Mr. Brent,” said 
Durham stepping forward and taking the telegrams. 

Matthew regarded him thoughtfully. “Yes,” he finally 
said, “and I must look after it.” 

For several moments longer he pondered deeply. When 
he spoke again it was with an air of settled determination. 

“William,” he said, “ask Mr. Duvall to come up here 
at once, and then tell them whoever is at the other end of 
that,” indicating the telephone, “to put it out of business.” 

Billy obeyed while the others regarded Matthew in 
silence. 

“Now,” he continued after his order had been executed, 
“lock that door,” and he pointed to the door leading into 
the hall. 

Before Billy could carry out the command, Gage turned 
impetuously upon the old man: 


150 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“You will have to excuse me, Mr. Brent,” he said, “but 
I have business with the outside world and cannot be cut 
off from it in this fashion. Morris, I see you are out 
of it.” 

He took several steps toward the door and then 
turned back into the room. 

“Before I go, Mr. Brent,” he continued more calmly, 
“I think I am entitled to know what you propose to do.” 

Matthew regarded him steadfastly for several minutes 
before he replied—carefully weighing each word. 

“Yes, I think you are and I am sorry I cannot tell 
you—except that I am going to carry out my brother’s 
instructions as left in his will. These instructions were 
to divide his estate, and he said that I could do it—how, 
he did not suggest, nor have I yet decided; but I can see, 
as did Simon, that it must be divided. 

“Because of the power vested in such vast wealth, this 
estate has become a menace to the nation. I thank the 
wisdom of the law-makers, that the inheritance tax will 
make the first division. This, however, will be but a 
small percentage, and the great task will still devolve 
upon me.” 

“If that was your brother’s idea, why did he not 
divide it himself?” 

“Simon did not know how to divide. He only knew 
how to multiply. For years he did this, until his vast 
accumulation became a veritable part of him. To have 
divided it would have been to vivisect his own body—to 
tear out his vitals and scatter them to the winds. He 
simply could not do it, and so he left to me the accomplish¬ 
ment of this stupendous task. How I am to do it, I 
cannot say; but do it I must and will.” 

A long pause followed Matthew’s dramatic speech. To 
Mary his utterance seemed inspired, and she regarded 
her grandfather with mingled awe and admiration. To 


MATTHEW BRENT 157 

the others the idea was simply incomprehensible and his 
words those of a fanatic. 

Gage was the first to break the silence. 

“Mr. Brent,” he said earnestly, “let me give you a 
word of. advice. Be careful that in trying to remedy 
what you consider one evil, you do not create a greater. 
The established order of things can not be easily set 
aside. Good morning,” and he hastily quitted the room. 

There was silence until Matthew voiced his thoughts. 

“Is it possible,” he asked, “that we have created a 
power we cannot control—an evil power which cannot 
be destroyed? I cannot—I will not believe it I” 

Again there was silence, broken only by the stock-ticker, 
whose clamorous voice slowly aroused the aged man 
to action. For a moment he raised his eyes and regarded 
the instrument thoughtfully. Then in a stern voice he 
commanded: 

“William, take that thing out of here! It is respon¬ 
sible for this evil—that and what it stands for. Take 
it away, I say! Take it away!” 

“I—I—I can’t, sir,” stammered Billy. “It’s held down 
by wires.” 

Matthew strode forward and grasped the tape which 
was falling into the basket. 

“Held down by wires!” he repeated angrily. “Yes, 
the wires of greed, controlling the destiny of the world; 
but shall we admit our inability to sever them?” 

He dashed the tape into the basket. 

“If there is no one else,” he declared, “I will be the 
instrument of the Almighty to sever the meshes that 
entangle my brother’s honor!” 

With the energy of his excitement, he wrenched the 
ticker from its pedestal and hurled it to the floor. Stand¬ 
ing over its scattered remains as Ajax might have stood 
defying the lightning, he cried: 


158 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“Now are we no longer puppets, dancing at the end 
of a gilded wire, but men—men free to administer the 
affairs of this vast estate like human beings with souls!” 

He re-crossed the room and stood calmly beside his 
great armchair. Raising his right hand to command the 
undivided attention of those present he said quietly but 
firmly: 

“Now, gentlemen, let us discuss this matter in a spirit 
of brotherly love.” 


CHAPTER XVI 


T HE conference which followed was participated in 
by Matthew, Morris, Duvall and Durham, with 
Mary an interested auditor. 

“I have been much perplexed,” was Matthew’s open¬ 
ing statement, “by the unusual wording of the explana¬ 
tory note in Simon’s will. He named but one heir—my 
granddaughter Mary—and still he declares that I am 
better able to divide the estate than he. In the will 
proper, he refers to Mary as the ‘residuary legatee.’ He 
must, therefore, have expected and intended a division, 
or there could have been no residue.” 

“He may have intended the term ‘residuary,’ ” suggested 
Duvall, “to have referred to the residue of the estate after 
the inheritance tax and other indebtedness had been paid.” 

“Possibly,” admitted Matthew, “but I hardly think 
so. Just what he did mean has not been clear to me 
until today, when I learn of the immensity of his estate 
and the danger that lurks therein. Now I perceive that 
he fully realized that this vast structure must be demol¬ 
ished, or it would become even a greater menace than it 
is. It has come to me as an inspiration.” 

“Do you think you would have had this inspiration had 
it not been in accord with your theories?” queried Duvall. 
“Do you think it could have come to your brother?” 

“I do not, although I am sure he had begun to see the 
necessity for it.” 

“If such had been the case, don’t you think he would 
159 


160 


MATTHEW BRENT 


have intimated how he thought it might best be done?” 

Matthew shook his head as he replied slowly and with 
deep conviction: “I do not. Although he realized the 
need, he did not even know where to begin. He had been 
reading my books and knew how I regarded the accumula¬ 
tion of vast wealth—knew that I looked upon it as a 
menace to society. In our youth we disagreed; but after 
he became older and began to understand my viewpoint, 
he must have seen that I was right. He virtually told 
Mary so. 

“However, this great fortune has been amassed, and 
the question which must have presented itself was how 
it could best be distributed. Simon did not know. This 
is the problem he has left me to work out. This is the 
problem I must solve. How, I have not determined; but 
in some manner that shall enable me, at least in part, to 
make restitution to those from whom this wealth has 
been unjustly taken and to those whose labor must have 
been unjustly used in its accumulation. No man could 
honestly amass such a fortune in fifty years. Most of 
it must have been stolen.” 

“No, no, Mr. Brent!” interposed Duvall earnestly, 
“it was not stolen. It may not have been acquired in 
accordance with your ideas; but Simon Brent was a law- 
abiding man.” 

“Law-abiding, yes,” retorted Matthew, “for if the laws 
were not such as would warrant his actions, he had laws 
passed that would.” 

“Again I must disagree with you,” Duvall replied, “I 
do not believe your brother ever used his influence for the 
passing of a law which was not wise and just to the 
business—” 

Matthew shook his head vigorously. “I do not believe 
you are qualified to judge, Mr. Duvall. The manner in 
which you conduct the Planet convinces me.” 


MATTHEW BRENT 


161 


Duvall’s face flushed, for Duvall was an upright man. 
His management of the Planet was along what he con¬ 
sidered the most up-to-date lines and he honestly sup¬ 
ported only those public measures which to him seemed 
good. If his viewpoint was wrong, it was not because he 
so desired, but because of his training and environment. 
It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that he should 
have replied very forcibly—even at the risk of not pleas¬ 
ing one who was to be his superior: 

“The manner in which I conduct the Planet , Mr. Brent, 
is, in my judgment, honest and right. Its policy under 
my managment has always been to support those measures 
which seemed best for the great business and financial 
interests of the nation. As the stability of the nation 
depends largely upon these interests, whatever helps them 
must benefit the public at large. If you do not consider 
my management of the highest order, I shall be pleased 
to tender my resignation.” 

“No, no!” replied Matthew hastily. “I am not ques¬ 
tioning the honesty of your motives ; only your viewpoint. 
I cannot see matters as you do.” 

“It is because your viewpoint is limited, Mr. Brent,” 
Morris here interposed. “You are unable to comprehend 
the immense volume of business done in these offices. It 
amounts to hundreds of thousands, frequently millions of 
dollars, daily. It is just as much larger than the amount of 
business done in your day, as the business of the great 
department stores, whose sales amount to thousands of 
dollars daily, is greater than that of the country mer¬ 
chant, whose daily sales are not more than a hundred. 
The small merchant could never acquire a million dollars 
from his merchandising. The great department store— 
which clears, perhaps, a smaller percentage on most of 
its sales than does the small merchant—might easily and 
honestly make that sum in a few months.” 


162 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“But there are not stores which sell thousands of dol¬ 
lars worth of goods daily,” declared Matthew. “You 
simply mention these large sums as illustrations. Why, 
even A. T. Stewart doesn’t do that amount of business.” 

“Perhaps A. T. Stewart did not,” replied Morris, “but 
the establishment which occupies not only Stewart’s old 
store, but several other much larger stores, does.” 

“Impossible!” 

“Not at all, Mr. Brent. The only impossibility is that 
you are unable to grasp the situation after fifty years 
of retirement. If you will take three months to become 
acquainted with the world of today and its methods, 
allowing me in the meantime to manage the estate—” 

“What?” interrupted Matthew. “Leave you in charge 
of the estate after what I have learned today. Never!” 

Morris’s face flushed. “I am sorry you misjudge me,” 
he said controlling his temper as best he could. “I have 
nothing personally against Mr. Bowen, but I shall main¬ 
tain my position that he is not the right man for the 
place. I firmly believe his policy will be bad for the 
financial interests, and the Brent estate will lose thereby.” 

Matthew listened patiently to all the arguments ad¬ 
vanced, but they made no impression upon him. When 
the discussion ended he had not changed his determination. 
However, at Durham’s suggestion that he could not 
legally take any action until the will had been admitted 
to probate and he had been confirmed as executor by the 
courts, he agreed to allow the business to continue as 
usual for a few days, upon one absolute condition, namely, 
that no loans should be called and no new deals made. 

While Mary had been only an interested listener and 
had said nothing, her year’s experience in New York and 
her daily intercourse with Simon had so shaped her 
view of the world that she was able to see that her grand¬ 
father might be mistaken in many particulars. Her 


MATTHEW BRENT 


163 


loyalty to him, however, was unshaken, and she was per¬ 
fectly willing to abide by his decision, satisfied that in 
some manner he would confirm the confidence that had 
been reposed in him by Simon. The only thing which 
caused her any doubt in her grandfather was her faith 
in Durham, whose familiarity with financial affairs was 
well known, while Matthew admitted that he had had 
little or no experience. 

On their way home in the automobile she said diplo¬ 
matically : 

“Uncle Simon had great confidence in Arthur, Daddy. 
He understands a lot about the business, you must let him 
help you all he can.” 

“Oh, I shall,” he replied. “I have already done so and 
he helped me out of a tight place this morning. He 
understands the details of the business thoroughly; but he 
has not that broad grasp upon social conditions I wish 
he had. I am considerably disappointed in him.” 

“Why, Daddy!” and Mary regarded her grandfather 
in the utmost surprise. “There isn’t any one in the 
city who is better informed socially than Arthur.” 

“You don’t understand me, Mary. I do not refer to 
that sort of social conditions. I mean matters of social 
economy.” 

“He’s just as economical as he can be. Mrs. Durham 
told me so. She says she doesn’t believe there is another 
young man in New York who spends so little on himself. 
You see you are much mistaken.” 

Matthew smiled as he replied grimly: “I must be.” 

“Then don’t you think that maybe—I don’t say for 
sure, but just maybe—it will be better to be guided a 
little by his advice?” 

Matthew did not reply, the rapid movement of the auto, 
as it dodged in and out among the crowd of vehicles, 
proving a somewhat disturbing factor; but wheri they 


104 


MATTHEW BRENT 


were finally skimming out Riverside Drive and Mary 
again reverted to the matter, he replied very earnestly: 

“Mary, this is not a matter in which I can take any¬ 
one’s advice. If Simon had wanted Arthur or Morris, 
or anyone else to have administered his estate, they were 
right here and he would have named them. Instead, he 
selected me. I have come fifteen thousand miles to carry 
out his wishes and I must do it. Of course I shall be 
glad to consult with Arthur as to details; but nothing 
can change me from my purpose.” 


CHAPTER XVII 


K NOWING her grandfather as she did, Mary was in 
a quandary. 

Likewise she remembered the scene in Tonga when 
Matthew and Durham had clashed over her future. At 
that time Matthew had yielded because of his affection 
for her. This seemed a vastly different situation, as it 
had to do with the theory upon which her grandfather 
had lived his life. 

“However,” she thought, “Arthur showed great wis¬ 
dom then and he will be just as wise now.” 

It was with considerable impatience, therefore, that she 
awaited the coming of Durham that evening. In as few 
words as possible she told him of her conversation with 
Matthew and asked his advice. 

For some moments Durham did not reply. When he 
did it was with an earnestness greater than he had ever 
spoken before. 

“Since the events of today,” he said slowly, “I have 
given the matter much thought. I have learned enough 
of your grandfather’s character to perceive that a 
serious condition exists—a condition fraught with grave 
consequences to many persons. I have gone so far as to 
confer with Judge Everett, your uncle’s lawyer, to see 
if there is any way of preventing the thing your grand¬ 
father has in mind. He says there is not, without such 
steps, being taken as I am sure you would not wish. I—” 
“Then what can we do?” interrupted Mary with the 
greatest concern. “Oh, Arthur, what can we do?” 

165 


166 


MATTHEW BRENT 


For a long minute there was silence. Then Arthur 
exclaimed impulsively: “Mary, do you believe the Bible?” 

“Why, of course! What a question!” 

“Do you think it tells about a wisdom higher than our 
wisdom ?” 

Mary regarded him in surprise. “You mean God’s?” 
she finally asked. Durham nodded his head. 

“Then I am sure Daddy will have wisdom,” was the 
joyful exclamation. “He says he is always guided by 
God.” 

“I am sure he tries to be,” agreed Durham; “but I am 
beginning to find out that we make a lot of mistakes in 
this respect. I have found in my own case that I do not 
always do the right thing, even when I am trying my best. 
Now, there must be some way of knowing exactly what is 
right and what is wrong.” 

Mary’s astonishment became greater. 

“I didn’t know you ever thought about such things, 
Arthur.” 

“I never did until recently. A few days before we went 
to Tonga, a friend invited me to go to his church to hear 
what he called a lecture, but winch seemed a good deal 
more like a sermon to me. I was much impressed by what 
I heard. I never knew the Bible contained the things he 
said and I made up my mind to read it and find out. The 
result is that I have a great deal better understanding 
about it and what it teaches.” 

Mary’s eyes sparkled. 

“I’m so glad, Arthur! Why, I’ve been reading it all 
my life. It’s a wonderful book.” 

“It surely is; and it has a lot of things in it that I 
never knew about. Did you know it contains the remedy 
for sickness as well as sin?” 

Mary nodded her head energetically: “Of course! 
That’s why I am never sick.” 


MATTHEW BRENT 


167 


“I see,” said Durham slowly; “and I also begin to see 
why you are so different from all the other girls I know.” 
Then after a pause: “If the teaching of the Bible can be 
applied to sickness, why can’t it be used to heal the sick 
financial condition brought about by your Uncle Simon’s 
will and the lack of his guiding hand? Certainly the 
condition needs a strong remedy.” 

“Then why not apply it?” 

“That’s what I had in mind when I spoke about getting 
wisdom. If what I have been reading is true; if we just 
know how to trust in the Divine Mind in which is all the 
wisdom of the universe—we shall be shown what to do. 
To me, that seems to be the teaching of the Bible, for in it 
I have read: s If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of 
God, and it shall be given him.’ That looks pretty good 
to me.” 

“Yes,” ejaculated Mary, with an emphatic nod of her 
head, “and the Bible also teaches that if we pray, believ¬ 
ing our prayers will be answered, they will be.” 

“Well, I have prayed,” declared Durham, “the best I 
know how, and I surely believe there is some way of show¬ 
ing your grandfather wherein he is wrong and prevailing 
upon him to change his opinion.” 

Mary shook her head. 

“I am afraid my faith along that line is pretty small.” 

“Then I must help you to strengthen it,” said Durham 
emphatically. “What’s the use of having the promises if 
you can’t use them? We are told to trust in God. Why 
not do it?” 

“I do try,” said Mary meekly. 

“You’ll have to do better than try,” was Durham’s 
brusque reply. “You’ll have to succeed if you expect to 
get anywhere.” 

Mary’s eyes expressed her admiration. 

“You are so practical!” she exclaimed. 


168 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“Well, I try to be, and I’ll help your grandfather in 
every way I can, just as I promised. I am absolutely 
certain, however, that his plan for dividing the estate 
is not only absurd, but impossible. He will not go far 
before something will occur to open his eyes and prove 
what I am saying.” 

Mary drew a long breath. 

“I feel so much better when I hear you talk, Arthur.” 
Then, after a pause: “Do you think Uncle Simon was 
dishonest?” 

“Not in the way your grandfather thinks. It is a good 
deal as Morris says—although I must admit I haven’t 
much use for Morris or his methods. Your Uncle Simon’s 
interests were so gigantic that if he only made a very 
small sum on each transaction that passed through his 
office, the aggregate could not fail to be great. I’ll admit 
he did many things of which I do not approve. I might 
have done them myself once. I wouldn’t now.” 

“Is that because you have been reading your Bible?” 
asked Mary. 

“It may be; or it may be because of you. Anyway, I 
know I wouldn’t do them.” Then after a long and thought¬ 
ful pause: “From what I have heard my father say, I 
feel there are some persons with whom your Uncle dealt, 
to whom restitution is due. These could be reached 
without much trouble; but this indiscriminate division of 
the estate—why, it can’t be done. There is no just 
way—” 

Durham stopped short with an exclamation of satis¬ 
faction. 

“That’s it!” he said. “That’s why it isn’t right to do 
as your grandfather contemplates. It would be unjust.” 

“How?” asked Mary. 

“In many ways. I can’t enumerate them now; but I 
get a glimpse of what I mean. He’ll see it, too.” 


MATTHEW BRENT 


161) 


The look of admiration of Mary’s face deepened. “Oh, 
Arthur,” she exclaimed, “how wise you are!” 

Durham’s face flushed. 

“Cut it out!” he laughed. “I may have picked up a 
few scattering ideas, but I’m no Solomon.” 

“And I’m so glad,” Mary continued without paying 
any heed to his words, “that you don’t think Uncle Simon 
was so awful bad. I wish you could change Daddy’s belief 
about him.” 

“I’ll try,” he promised. “Of course most men have two 
sides, and Simon—” 

“You haven’t two sides, have you, Arthur?” inter¬ 
rupted the girl. 

Durham regarded her quizzically, but made no reply. 

“Why don’t you answer?” she demanded impatiently. 
“I have a right to know,” and she regarded him with an 
expression which indicated her determination to have 
what she considered her right. 

“Well,” Durham finally said, “According to my own 
diagnosis, I must have two sides; but—” 

“Oh, Arthur, how could you?” 

“I suppose I was born that way; but so far as you are 
concerned there is only one.” 

Mary shook her head sadly. 

The action was almost pitiful in its meaning, and 
Durham realized what was passing through her mind. 
Laying aside his jocularity, he took her face between his 
hands and, looking down into her eyes, said earnestly: 

“I want you to believe that what I mean by my two 
sides is not exactly a good side and a bad side. Out in 
the world where men meet, they cannot always show their 
home side. Although they must, at times, be severe and 
firm, it does not mean that they must be bad. There are 
hard knocks to be received, and sometimes hard blows 
have to be delivered in return. There is a sterner side to 


170 


MATTHEW BRENT 


we men than the side we show to those we love; but stern 
and hard as we must sometimes be, a man can always be 
honest and true. That I have always tried to be. You 
believe me, don’t you, sweetheart?” 

He awaited her reply fearlessly, while her eyes grew 
moist with a thrill of joy at his words. 

“You have made me very happy,” was all she said. 

Had she spoken volumes, she could not have said more. 

“And I promise,” continued Arthur, after a pause, “to 
do my level best to change your grandfather’s opinion, 
not only about your Uncle Simon, but about the wisdom 
of his intentions.” 

Durham absolutely lived up to his promise: but Mat¬ 
thew refused to be changed. 

Invariably he returned to his original statement: “No 
man could honestly amass such a fortune in his lifetime, 
even though he might have done nothing outside the pale 
of the law. Simon’s methods remind me of the logic in 
one of Carleton’s poems: 

‘You needn’t always tell the truth to spoil a trade 
that’s brewin’! 

For if you don’t take men in, in trade 
Why they’ll take you in.’ 

“This,” Matthew declared with emphasis, “has been the 
American business man’s creed—both in and out of the 
church—ever since I can remember; but if every man in 
the world believed it—which, thank God, they do not—it 
would not be right. Neither time nor usage can ever 
make wrong right; nor a lie the truth.” 

“But, Mr. Brent,” argued Durham, “your brother 
started to accumulate his great fortune at a time when 
profits were large and opportunities were great. He may 
have been an opportunist; but what man is not? Being a 
man of sound judgment, he was nearly always on the right 


MATTHEW BRENT 


171 


side of the market. In addition to this, properties which 
he acquired at a fair price nearly half a century ago, 
have increased in value many hundred fold, simply 
through the natural growth of this great city.” 

“That’s it! That’s it!” exclaimed Matthew; “but 
where’s the justice? Why should Simon get all the 
profits? Why shouldn’t those who helped to increase 
these values—especially those immediately interested— 
share in the increase? That’s where our social system is 
wrong, and in the case of Simon and his estate I am 
going to right it. That’s what he expected me to do.” 

Durham shook his head. “Your theory may be all 
right,” he said. “I don’t profess to be a judge; but I am 
sure that under existing conditions it is impossible to 
justly divide any estate in accord with such a theory. 
How would you go about it?” 

“I haven’t fully decided; but it ought to be easy with 
the help of Morris and Prichard.” 

Durham looked the doubt he felt. 

“It is easy enough to give away the money,” he said— 
“If you don’t care to whom you give it; but if you really 
expect to divide the estate among those who might be 
considered rightfully entitled to consideration, that is 
another matter. Its like trying to unscramble eggs. In 
my opinion, it can’t be done.” 

“It must be done!” replied Matthew emphatically, “no 
matter how difficult the task! It is justice!” 

“It is rank injustice!” Durham declared. 

Matthew regarded him in surprise. “Injustice to 
whom?” he asked. 

“To your granddaughter for one—and I don’t believe 
the courts will allow—” 

“Injustice to Mary!” interrupted Matthew. “How can 
that possibly be? What has she ever done that would 
entitle her to this vast wealth? Not a single thing!” 


172 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“You’re wrong, Mr. Brent. She has done much.” 

Matthew regarded the young man with astonishment 
and doubt. 

“What? I should like to know.” 

“She made the last year of your brother’s life one of 
joy and happiness. Do you call that nothing?” 

“No,” thoughtfully, “that is a good deal, and I shall 
take that into account in dividing the estate.” 

“I should think so,” declared Durham as he arose to 
depart, “especially when men are spending hundreds—yes, 
thousands of dollars—for even one hour’s enjoyment.” 

Durham’s argument must have pleased, even though it 
did not convince Matthew, for he remarked to Mary some 
hours later: 

“I am not sure but Arthur has a keener perception of 
the problems of life than I thought. He has just been 
showing me the deeper side of his character.” 

“He told me every man had two sides,” replied Mary 
with a happy little laugh. “I am glad you are finding his 
best.” 

“So am I, and I wish the other side were not so 
pronounced.” 

Mary’s heart gave a little jump. “The other side, 
Daddy? You don’t think Arthur has a bad side, do you?” 

“Some might not call it so; but it looks bad to me—this 
absorbing desire to pile up money!” 

Mary heaved a sigh of relief. 

“You mean like Uncle Simon?” 

“Exactly.” 

“Was that so very, very bad, Daddy?” 

“Absolutely unpardonable.” 

With which decisive and, to him, undebatable reply, 
Matthew turned to his Tribune , the simple presence of 
which brought back his past and was a source of the 
greatest delight. 


CHAPTER XVin 


M ATTHEW Brent was not only a God-fearing man— 
he was a God-loving man. He was a firm believer in 
the teachings of the Master that the first is the great 
commandment and the second “which is like unto it,” is: 
“Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.” 

To be able to apply the Golden Rule in the administra¬ 
tion of his brother’s estate was now his greatest desire. 
To this end he spent the next few days, while the legal 
formalities regarding his appointment as executor were 
being taken, in looking over such of the Brent properties 
as he was able; in learning something of their character 
and in gaining some idea of their magnitude. 

It was little he could see and less that he was able to 
comprehend. The more he saw, the greater his task 
appeared. Each day the problem of dividing an estate, 
which reached out into many lines of human endeavor, 
seemed more difficult of solution. Still Matthew never 
wavered in his determination. 

“There must be a way,” he kept saying over and over 
to himself. 

To Mary, however, he confided his doubts and fears. 
“I told you,” he said at dinner one day, “that I was not 
fit for this work. Why, the manner of doing business has 
so changed in fifty years, that I hardly knew where to go 
to buy a pair of galluses. I tried to get them in three or 
four different places before I found a store that kept 
them. In one place they didn’t even know what they were.” 

m 


174 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“You should have gone to a gentleman’s store, Daddy.” 

“Aren’t all stores gentlemen’s stores?” 

“No; some are ladies’ stores and some are children’s. 
But where did you finally find them?” 

“I don’t know, but it was a mighty big place. They 
kept a little of most everything. Reminded me of the 
store that Deacon Howe used to keep up at Yonkers when 
I was a boy. He sold groceries, hardware, cider and 
tobacco on one side and dry-goods, millinery, boots and 
shoes on the other, with mill-feed and pork in the back 
room.” 

“They call that a department store now,” explained 
Mary. 

“They just called it a store when I was a boy—a 
country store.” 

“You could hardly call this a country store.” 

“No,” admitted Matthew, “it’s a city store; but the 
change isn’t in the store—it’s in the city.” 

Mary looked puzzled. “How is that?” she asked. 

“Why, the city has adopted country ways.” 

“Then you ought to feel right at home; we’ve lived in 
the country so long.” 

Matthew scratched his chin. 

“I’ve missed a point somewhere,” he finally said. Then 
after a pause: “Guess I forgot to observe that the 
country has grown bigger, too, since I left.” 

“You expected that, didn’t you?” 

“I don’t know what I expected, Mary. I had no idea 
when I left Tonga how things here would look. I 
certainly did not expect such great changes and I don’t 
seem able to get used to them. I keep forgetting that I 
have been out of the world fifty years, and I keep expect¬ 
ing to see the same things and the same people—that is 
the same kind of people I used to know. But they’re all 
different. Why, Mary, they don’t even look as they did.” 


MATTHEW BRENT 


175 


He became silently thoughtful, his mind harking back 
into the past, while Mary observed him closely for several 
minutes. When she again spoke it was with unusual 
earnestness. 

“Have you decided what you are going to do?” she 
asked. 

“You mean about dividing the estate?” 

“Yes.” 

“Not yet.” 

“You must have some plan.” 

“Well I have, but I haven’t figured out the details. You 
6ee it’s like this: After my one day’s experience, I can 
see that I don’t know how to carry on this business like 
Simon did—and I wouldn’t if I could. The thing that is 
making all the trouble is too much money. I don’t 
propose to add to the trouble by increasing our wealth. 
That’s just what is happening, however, every day the 
business continues, and so I’ve decided to put the Simon 
Brent estate out of business just as soon as I am lawfully 
empowered to act.” 

“Can you do it?” 

“Why not?” 

Mary shook her head. “I don’t know; but it looks im¬ 
possible to me.” 

“Why impossible? Just suppose that big store I was in 
today should decide to go out of business; wouldn’t it be 
easy?” 

“How?” 

“Why, just close the doors some night and not open the 
next morning.” 

“What would they do with all the goods they had left?” 

Matthew looked up and smiled whimsically. 

“I haven’t thought of that. I was thinking more of a 
newspaper. All a newspaper has to do to go out of 
business is to cease publication.” 


176 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“But Uncle Simon’s estate isn’t like a newspaper, 
Daddy. It is more like the department store. Now what 
would the department store do with all the things it had 
left?” 

Matthew thought deeply for a minute and then his face 
beamed with a sudden light. 

“Why, they could do just what I propose to do with 
Simon’s property: Divide it among those who had helped 
accumulate it. Then everybody would get a just share, 
from the proprietor down to the cash boy. Those who 
had given the most time and labor would get the most, 
while those who had contributed the least would get the 
least. That’s just what we shall do with Simon’s money. 
Don’t you see?” 

“Ye-ye-s,” was Mary’s hesitating answer. “I see how 
it would work in a store where you could find out who had 
helped and who had not; but how can we find out about 
those who helped Uncle Simon make his money?” 

“There must be a way,” was Matthew’s confident reply, 
“and it is my business to find out. I shall begin going 
over Simon’s books and private papers tomorrow.” 

After making this decision Matthew was a daily visitor 
at the office, but made no attempt to interfere with the 
regular order of affairs. He spent hours about the 
Planet, observing the methods there in vogue and in 
watching the linotypes, which were a source of unending 
delight. 

Mary invariably accompanied her grandfather down 
town in the morning and called for him in the afternoon. 
Several times she met Morris, and two or three times she 
encountered Gilson Gage—seemingly b}^ the merest 
accident, and he always manifested the greatest concern 
in her affairs. Having heard his warning to her grand¬ 
father on that first morning of his arrival, this seemed 
but natural. 


MATTHEW BRENT 


177 


“I certainly appreciate your kindly interest—both 
yours and Mr. Morris’s,” she told him one day. “I am 
most grateful for two such loyal friends, but I do not feel 
that I can do any more than I have to dissuade Daddy 
from his purpose.” 

“Cannot your uncle’s lawyer influence him?” 

“Mr. Morris says not—nor Mr. Durham either,” she 
added as an after thought. 

Gage noticed the tinge of pink in her cheeks as she spoke 
Durham’s name and mentally gnashed his teeth. Reply¬ 
ing, he merely said: 

“I am glad for your sake, as well as your grandfather’s, 
that Mr. Durham sees things in the right light. I could 
only wish he were older and had more experience. The 
close relationship between your two families naturally 
places him in a position to wield a great influence. I have 
no doubt he will do all he can for you, but he is so young 
that his experience is necessarily limited. What does his 
mother think? She is a woman of sound judgment.” 

Mary smiled significantly. 

“Really, Mr. Gage, I do not know. Daddy is a trifle 
old-fashioned and does not think muph of a woman’s 
advice.” 

“So I should imagine,” he laughed, “but I have learned, 
Miss Brent, that woman’s wisdom is not to be lightly 
regarded,” and he bowed himself out of her presence. 

“A charming man,” mused Mary as he withdrew. “I 
can’t see why Arthur does not like him.” 

While Matthew was quick to discover that the New 
York of today is not the New York of fifty years ago, he 
was not so quickly able to appreciate the broader methods 
necessitated by the changed business conditions; nor did 
he realize how pronounced, although gradual, the change 
had been. 

Quietly, therefore, he perfected what, to him, looked 


3,78 


MATTHEW BRENT 


like a very simple plan, and early on the morning after he 
was established as the legal executor of the estate, he 
appeared in the editorial rooms of the Planet. Completely 
ignoring Duvall and the managing editor, he went directly 
to the city editor. 

“I want this put on the first page,” he said abruptly, 
handing out two pages of loosely written copy, “It isn’t 
typewritten, as I see pretty much everything is now-a- 
days; but I guess you can read it.” 

The city editor ran his eyes hastily over the 
manuscript. 

What he read fairly took his breath away and con¬ 
vinced him on the spot that Matthew was bereft of his 
senses. 

“Hadn’t you better consult Mr. Duvall about this 
before you print it?” he asked. 

Matthew drew himself up and looked down upon the 
young man in a manner which brought vividly to that 
gentleman’s mind the only interview he had ever had with 
Simon Brent. 

“Why should I consult Mr. Duvall?” queried Matthew. 
“Don’t you think I know what I am doing?” 

“Undoubtedly, sir,” was the quick response, “but your 
request is most unusual. I really shouldn’t feel at liberty 
to use it without—” 

“Did you ever hear of Horace Greeley?” asked Matthew 
sternly. 

“Why, yes, sir,” and the city editor was now more than 
ever satisfied that Matthew was insane. 

“Well, I am to this paper what Horace Greeley was to 
the Tri-bune. He allowed no employe to dictate to him. 
I will allow no one on this paper to question my orders.” 

“But, Mr. Brent, I am not the proper person to whom 
this article should be submitted. It should go to Mr. 
Nichols, the managing editor.” 


MATTHEW BRENT 179 

“Oh,” he exclaimed, “I thought you handled the local 
news.” 

“Not a matter so unusual as this.” 

Taking the manuscript from the city editor, Matthew 
made his way to the managing editor’s desk. 

“Good morning, Mr. Nichols,” he said by way of 
attracting that gentleman’s attention from some mail he 
was looking over. 

“Why, good morning, Mr. Brent,” returned Mr. 
Nichols arising from his chair. “You are down early 
this morning.” 

“Yes, I have a little announcement I wish to make in 
the Planet and he handed Nichols the copy. 

“I want it on the first page,” he continued as Nichols 
was glancing over the manuscript, “but I don’t want it 
displayed under such a large heading as you sometimes 
use.” 

“Do—don’t what?” stammered the managing editor, 
looking first at the paper he held in his hand and then at 
Matthew, to assure himself that he was not dreaming. 

“I do not want it displayed under too large headlines. 
I think your headlines are frequently altogether out of 
proportion to the value of the news. I am sure Horace 
Greeley would not have approved of such a display.” 

“And I am sure Horace Greeley would not have 
approved of this, Mr. Brent,” explained Nichols in des¬ 
peration, shaking the paper at the old man and not 
knowing what else to say. 

Matthew rubbed his chin reflectively. 

“No, I don’t believe he would,” he finally admitted. 
“There were some matters upon which Greeley and I did 
not agree; but I want that published just the same.” 

“Have you consulted Mr. Duvall about it?” 

Matthew’s face grew dark. 

“Why should I consult Mr. Duvall? My brother com- 


180 


MATTHEW BRENT 


missioned me to divide his estate and said that my will was 
his. This is my will and I want it published today. We 
will not discuss the matter further.” 

He walked away from the desk, but returned a moment 
later. 

“I forgot to say,” he remarked to the still agitated 
managing editor, “that I want what I have written pub¬ 
lished just as I have written and without comment.” 

Following Matthew’s command, the next edition of the 
Planet contained the following: 

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN 

Be it known that I, Matthew Brent, having been appointed 
and duly qualified executor of the estate of my brother, the late 
Simon Brent; and by his last will and testament, having been 
instructed and empowered to divide his estate, do hereby request 
that all persons who have suffered through any act of my 
brother, or have been deprived of their rights by any act of his, 
or have not received a just share of the profits of their labor, 
or have any legal or moral claim against him, whatsoever, pre¬ 
sent their claims to me in writing at the earliest opportunity. 

In explanation of the above request, I wish to state that I 
deem it impossible for any man to have amassed such a vast 
estate without having deprived many others of property rights 
and the benefit of labor to which they are justly entitled. 
Because I so believe, it is my desire—as it was also my brother’s—* 
to make restitution to all who have been thus defrauded. 

In order to perform this duty in justice to all, I must have the 
honest co-operation of those having an interest in my brother’s 
estate. Only those claims which are just and well founded will 
be considered. Therefore, all claims must be presented in 
writing, with the facts fully set forth. 

To the general public, which has a right to know my inten¬ 
tions, I further announce that the business of the late Simon 
Brent will be discontinued and its affairs adjusted as rapidly 
as possible. This adjudication I hope to affect easily and natur¬ 
ally, by the division of the estate among those justly entitled to 
it. I shall thereby dear my brother’s name of any opprobrium 
that may attach thereto and bring success out of a life which 
he, himself, declared had been a failure 


Matthew Brent. 


MATTHEW BRENT 


181 


The excitement caused by the publication of this 
remarkable announcement may better be imagined than 
described. 

In accordance with Matthew’s instruction it was not 
displayed in the Planet; but in the succeeding editions of 
the other New York papers it was literally spread all over 
their first page, with cuts, comments and criticisms. 
Reporters and space writers fairly overran the Brent 
offices in their scramble for interviews, until Matthew 
declared he had never been so “pestered” in his life. After 
trying to treat them all courteously, as he believed news¬ 
paper men should be treated, he was at last obliged to 
take refuge in his home and deny himself to all callers. 

“I see they are bound to make a sensation of it,” he 
declared with no little show of temper, “although there is 
nothing sensational in it. I have tried to give them facts, 
but my every word and act is distorted. I shall make no 
more statements.” 

It goes without saying that Matthew’s published 
intention was taken as the vagary of a madman, and the 
following day it was thus discussed throughout the land. 

The only one not disturbed was Prichard. 

It never once entered the mind of the old clerk to 
believe the announcement. To him, such action would have 
been a sacrilege. All day he moved about the offices with 
a smile on his face, expecting every minute that Matthew 
would send for him: but when Matthew finally left the 
office and no such summons had come, the old man could 
wait no longer and betook himself to the Brent mansion, 
determined to find out what it all meant. 

Being quite as old as Matthew—in fact since that 
gentleman’s visit to the barber shop he appeared older— 
he felt himself a privileged character; and so, after a few 
words of greeting he began by saying: 

“I came up here this evening, Matthew, to have a talk 


182 


MATTHEW BRENT 


with you about that piece you had in the paper today.” 

“Yes,” replied Matthew gingerly. “What about it?” 

“Of course I know you don’t mean it; but what is the 
idea ?” 

Matthew regarded him enquiringly. 

“What do you mean?” he finally asked. 

“That’s what I asked you,” replied Prichard. “As 
Simon’s confidential clerk, he always told me the exact 
truth about things. Every once in a while he had an 
interview with himself printed, just to throw ’em off the 
scent; but he always explained it to me, so I wouldn’t 
make any mistakes. Now, Matthew, what’s the game?” 
and the old man rubbed his hands together in expectation. 

“Prichard, you’re an old idiot!” exclaimed Matthew 
angrily. 

“I expect I am, Matthew! I expect I am! You’re too 
clever for me. I always told Simon you wasn’t such a 
fool—” 

“I’m certainly much obliged for your good opinion,” 
interrupted Matthew, “but you’re wrong this time. There 
is no game, as you put it. My words mean just exactly 
what they say.” 

The smile faded from Prichard’s face. He leaned 
forward in his chair with one hand outstretched in 
protest. 

“No, no, Matthew!” he exclaimed and his voice indicated 
the greatest distress. “You don’t mean it! You don’t 
mean it!” 

“I mean every word of it.” 

The old clerk sank back into his seat as though about 
to collapse. 

“It would be a crime,” he muttered under his breath. 

“It will be the undoing of a crime,” replied Matthew. 

For some moments there was silence while the two old 
men confronted each other. At length Prichard aroused 


MATTHEW BRENT 


183 


himself with a mighty effort and, looking Matthew 
squarely in the face, said slowly: 

“Matthew, you don’t understand! You don’t know 
how Simon worked and schemed and slaved—” 

“No,” retorted Matthew savagely, “and I don’t want 
to know how. It is enough for me to know he did scheme 
and slave. It is my work to undo the schemes by which so 
many have been robbed.” 

“I tell you, Matthew,” and Prichard’s voice and manner 
became stronger and more aggressive— “you don’t under¬ 
stand. You’ve been out of the world too long. You 
don’t belong here. You don’t understand the world. You 
don’t understand business. You don’t understand men. 
If you did, you would see how impossible it is to do the 
things you suggest.” 

“Why is it impossible?” 

“Because most of the men who might honestly be 
entitled to some of the money are dead. Others never 
knew and never will that they haven’t had all 
that is due them. Many who never lost a cent through 
Simon, think they did; and these will make all sorts of 
claims. You never can get at the right of it.” 

“Nonsense, Prichard, I know better! We are not going 
to give away this wealth to every Tom, Dick and Harry 
who comes along. The claims must be presented in 
writing and we shall take plenty of time to decide. It is 
not a forced division. It is entirely voluntary, and I am 
sure it can be made justly.” 

Prichard shook his head. 

“I know better.” 

“Why,” continued Matthew optimistically, “with your 
knowledge of Simon’s affairs and with you to help me—” 

“What?” interrupted Prichard. “Me help you? 
Never!” 

“Why not?” 


184 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“Why not? Why not? Matthew Brent, I would cut oil 
my right hand sooner than put down upon paper one 
figure that would help to destroy the fortune which Simon 
spent his life to create. 

“No,” and Prichard arose to his feet, “if you persist in 
carrying out this insane idea, I shall wind up my work at 
the earliest possible moment and never again set my foot 
inside those offices.” 

Matthew shrugged his shoulders. 

“Just as you please,” he said, “I shall get along without 
you some way. As soon as I decide to how much of the 
estate you are entitled, I shall send it to you.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Just what I say. I am sure you must have aided 
largely in the successful management of this business. 
You should be entitled to a good share—” 

“I want no share!” interrupted Prichard vehemently. 
“I want nothing that Simon Brent did not give me! It 
was his brains, not mine, that made the money; and it is 
your lack of brains, Matthew Brent, that will scatter it 
to the winds. I want none of it! I’ll have none of it!” 

Grabbing his hat from the table, he angrily and 
hurriedly left the house. 


CHAPTER XIX 


E ARLY the following morning Matthew began going 
over private papers and examining accounts, and for 
two days Simon’s usually orderly office was turned topsy¬ 
turvy while the floor was strewn with ledgers of by-gone 
days. On the third morning, contrary to all precedent, 
Franklin Morris reached the office shortly after eight 
o’clock. None of the employes except Billy had arrived, 
and Morris with memorandum book in hand, was looking 
through the files and stock books piled high on Matthew’s 
desk when Gage entered. 

“Well,” he asked abruptly, “'what headway have you 
made?” 

“Considerable,” and Morris jotted down several 
numbers and closed his book. “I believe my plan is well 
worked out. Judge Ipswich has assured Judge Everett 
that he would be glad to grant the necessary order, 
provided the girl can be induced to make the application. 
He is thoroughly convinced that Matthew Brent is 
insane.” 

“Do you think the girl will do it?” 

“You never can tell what a woman will do,” was the 
philosophical reply, “but I am sure I have made some 
headway in gaining Miss Brent’s confidence during the 
past few days. I believe I can induce her to sign the 
application. I may, however, be obliged to use a little 
strategy.” 

“All’s fair in love and war,” remarked Gage, 

185 


186 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“And I suppose you think this might come under either 
classification?” replied Morris with a cynical smile. 

“You know we have lost a lot of valuable time,” con¬ 
tinued Gage, paying no attention to Morris’s remark. 

“Yes; but we shall be stronger than ever when we get 
the court order.” 

“Oh, undoubtedly,” and Gage lighted a fresh cigar, 
“Once we get rid of Durham—” 

“You leave Durham to me,” growled Morris. “Right 
now, however, he is playing into our hands by advising 
Miss Brent that she ought to take some step to save the 
estate.” 

“So I discovered. Strange what confidence she has in 
him.” 

“Not at all. She’s true blue and Durham’s clean—too 
clean to suit us; but I’ll shatter her confidence.” 

Gage took a couple of strong pulls at his cigar. 

“It won’t be easy,” he finally said. “If she is as good as 
you say—and I entirely agree that she is—it will be 
mighty hard to shake her confidence in Durham.” 

“Unless,” Morris added hastily, “I can make her 
jealous.” 

Gage nodded his head knowingly. 

“I didn’t think you knew women so well,” he laughed. 
“But,” more seriously, “whatever is done must be done 
quickly. Confidence in Bowen is growing and it will be 
harder to destroy than a week ago.” 

“There is one big point in our favor.” 

“What’s that?” 

“This action of ‘Brother Matthew’ as the papers call 
him. The support of a fanatic is of no benefit to Bowen, 
or any one else.” 

Gage laughed boisterously: “It’s the worst I ever 
heard! As you say, every boost from such a source is a 
knock.” He took out his memorandum book. “Now as to 


MATTHEW BRENT 


187 


details. This is the last of the month. The fourth of 
March is Inauguration Day. That gives us just four 
days in which to work.” 

“It is long enough,” declared Morris. “Once I get this 
court order, I’ll fix the market.” 

“And I’ll do the rest,” was Gage’s emphatic rejoinder. 

Morris looked at his watch. “I sent a message to M.ss 
Brent to meet me here at eight-thirty and I’m expecting 
her every minute.” Then as Billy entered from the ad¬ 
joining room: “I think we had better go into my private 
office to discuss the details.” 

“A nice pair, I don’t think,” was Billy’s mental 
comment as Morris and Gage withdrew and he seated 
himself at the typewriter. “The only reason they don’t 
steal the sun is because it’s too hot.” 

Mary had received Morris’s note the previous evening 
and had shown it to Durham. 

“What do you suppose he wants?” she asked. 

“Says he has an important matter to discuss and wants 
to see you when your grandfather is not present,” replied 
Durham scanning the note. 

“But why doesn’t he want Daddy present?” 

“Probably wants to talk to you about him. Everybody 
else is talking about him, so it won’t be anything new.” 

“It looks to me as though he had no confidence in 
Daddy.” 

“That isn’t strange either,” laughed Durham, “I’m 
beginning to lose mine.” 

“Why, Arthur i” 

“Well, I can’t help it. He is way off. Everybody but 
you and I think he is crazy. If I were you I’d go down 
and see what Morris wants. He may suggest some plan to 
save the estate. Nothing could be worse than it is now.” 

Thus it was that a few minutes after Billy had seated 
himself at the typewriter, Mary entered the office. 


188 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“Aren’t you coming in?” she asked over her shoulder as 
her escort stopped on the threshold. 

“Huh-uh!” laughed Durham. “Morris doesn’t want to 
see me.” 

“Why not?” and then as she espied Billy. “Oh, Billy, 
will you tell Mr. Morris I am here.” 

“Will I?” and Billy arose with a flourish. “There ain’t 
anything I wouldn’t do for you.” 

He hastened to obey, remarking to himself as he left the 
room: “Oh, Theodore, don’t I wish I was Mr. Durham! 
He’s just the man we need here.” 

“Morris thinks I spoiled his game the other day,” was 
Durham’s reply to Mary’s question, “and maybe I did. 
Anyway, he will not care to see me. I’ll go and bring 
your grandfather down town. There are a few things I 
must tell him. I think it is about time we named the 
day—” 

“There’s no hurry at all about that,” declared Mary, 
interrupting him. 

“I think there is,” insisted Durham emphatically, as 
he bent quickly over and kissed her. Then as he disap¬ 
peared : “Good-bye, I’ll see you later.” 

“Isn’t he a dear!” under her breath, and her cheeks 
were still pink when Morris entered. 

“I’m greatly obliged to you for coming down this 
morning,” he said by way of greeting. “It is a serious 
matter, Miss Brent, or I should not have requested the 
interview. Won’t you be seated? I have many things to 
say.” 

“I trust they are not disagreeable,” she said as she took 
the proffered seat. “You look as though they might be 
serious.” 

“They are.” 

“Can’t you tell them to my grandfather, Mr. Morris ?” 

“It is about your grandfather that I would speak. Of 


MATTHEW BRENT 


189 


course you understand what the effect will be, should he 
accomplish what he is trying to do ?” 

“You mean about dividing the estate?” 

“If that is what you call it. I call it ruining the 
estate—yes, and all connected with it. His plans are the 
wild vagaries of a lunatic.” 

“Pardon me, Mr. Morris,” said Mary coldly, “I object 
to having my grandfather designated by any such name.” 

“I do not mean it as a term of reproach,” explained 
Morris in his most dignified manner. “I make the asser¬ 
tion simply as a fact. Probably it does not appear so 
to you, because you have known your grandfather only 
as a loving, simple old man; but if some action is not 
taken to prevent him from carrying out his wild plan, 
he will not only ruin the estate, but will drag down with 
it hundreds, yes thousands of others who are depending 
upon its varied activities for support.” 

An expression of deep distress spread itself over 
Mary’s face. 

“Mr. Durham has said something similar to me, but 
I do not think I understand—exactly.” 

“I am sure that you do not and I have felt that you 
needed the advice of a man of experience. That is why 
I have asked you to come here and empower me, your 
uncle’s confidential adviser, to take such action as will 
protect all concerned.” 

“Have you spoken to Mr. Durham about it?” 

“No, Miss Brent, for I do not consider Mr. Durham the 
proper counselor for your grandfather.” 

Mary’s face flushed. “Uncle Simon had the greatest 
confidence in Mr. Durham,” she said. 

“For a young man, yes; but I am sure he did not 
consider him a proper person to administer this estate— 
and that is what his advice would amount to should your 
grandfather follow it. Some years from now, I doubt 


190 


MATTHEW BRENT 


not, he will be all that your uncle expected of him. But 
no young man who spends his nights at late suppers with 
questionable characters—•” 

Mary’s eyes flashed: “I don’t believe Mr. Durham is 
that kind of a young man,” she declared rising to her 
feet. “I am sure he has not—” 

The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of 
Duvall. He had been summoned by Morris and could 
not have entered at a more opportune moment—for 
Morris. 

“If you doubt my word, Miss Brent,” said that gentle¬ 
man, “ask Mr. Duvall. As a newspaper man, familiar 
with all that is going on in New York, he is in a position 
to know.” 

“I refuse to ask any one about Mr. Durham!” was 
Mary’s emphatic reply. 

“But I insist upon having my word corroborated,” was 
Morris’s equally emphatic rejoinder. Then turning to 
Duvall, he asked: 

“Mr. Duvall, what is Arthur Durham’s reputation?” 

Duvall looked from one to the other in a questioning 
manner. 

“I would rather not answer such a question,” he 
replied. 

“There are grave reasons why you should answer,” 
Morris declared. 

“Indeed there are!” insisted Mary. “Will you kindly 
answer Mr. Morris’s question, Mr. Duvall?” 

Duvall hesitated and then replied with as much grace 
as possible under the circumstances: “Why about the 
average, I guess.” 

“What do you mean by ‘about the average’ ? ” asked 
Mary. 

“That of the average wealthy young man about town.” 

“Late suppers with questionable characters, is what 


MATTHEW BRENT 191 

Mr. Morris said,” declared Mary. “Is that what you 
mean?” 

Duvall’s face flushed. The whole conversation was 
such a surprise he did not know what to say. It was not 
at all to his liking, so he made no reply. 

Taking his silence for an answer, Mary continued: 

“What does he mean by questionable characters?” 

“Why—why,” stammered Duvall, “persons who—who— 
a—well, persons who would hardly be suitable for you 
to know.” 

“Do you mean,” exclaimed Mary, the blood leaving her 
face, “that Arthur associates—that he goes to any place 
■where he could not take his mother or me?” 

“Of course! All men do. I fail to see that this is 
anything against his reputation.” 

But Mary saw it differently, as Morris knew she would. 
She had been brought up in an environment where there 
were no “questionable” places; not even places where men 
gather exclusively to eat, smoke and discuss business 
affairs in an informal way. To her sensitive nature, men 
who patronized resorts to which they could not take 
their families, must be leading a double life. 

Besides, did she not have Arthur’s own testimony that 
men were two-sided—testimony corroborated by her 
grandfather, whose word she would no more doubt than 
she would doubt the teaching of Holy Writ. Thus it 
was that she replied with an emphasis not to be mistaken: 

“All men do not! I am surprised that you have the 
hardihood to admit such a thing!” 

Duvall was too greatly surprised to make an answer; 
but Morris was ready with the suggestion sinister. 

“Miss Brent is quite right. Men of affairs do not do 
such things, Duvall, and I, too, am surprised at your 
admission!” 

Duvall shrugged his shoulders as Mary continued: 


192 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“If I believed Arthur Durham that kind of a man, 
I should have little or no confidence in him.” 

“I was certain of it,” declared Morris. “That is why 
I felt you should know.” 

“All I can say is,” Duvall here interposed, “that I am 
exceedingly sorry for Mr. Durham. I do not care to 
discuss the matter further.” 

For a space Mary stood irresolute. The whole con¬ 
versation had been such a surprise that she was dazed 
and confused. It was really her first temptation to doubt 
that eternal good ruled the world, and she was unable 
for the moment to withstand it. Burying her face in 
her hands she sank into a chair exclaiming: “Oh, why, did 
I ever leave Tonga?” 

Duvall cast upon Morris a glance of contempt as he 
said sympathetically: “Don’t cry, Miss Brent. Durham 
is no worse than others.” 

Morris frowned. 

“But you’ll agree with me, Duvall, that Durham is 
lacking as a counselor to a man in Mr. Brent’s position.” 

“Oh, undoubtedly. He should have someone more 
mature.” 

“I think Miss Brent will admit that,” continued Morris. 

“I feel that I am prepared to admit anything—almost 
my own identity. Let us finish this interview as quickly 
as possible, Mr. Morris. It has been the most painful 
experience of my life.” 

“And quite unnecessary, it seems to me,” was Duvall’s 
comment. 

“You are entirely wrong!” declared Morris with an 
angry and impatient gesture. “I beg of you both to 
listen to what I have to say.” 

He seated himself and drew from his pocket a package 
of papers. 

“I was just explaining to Miss Brent when you came 


MATTHEW BRENT 


193 


in, Duvall,” Morris began in a more subdued voice, “the 
trouble her grandfather is causing by his ill-advised 
action. I think she should know; don’t you?” 

“Unquestionably.” 

“By the terms of her uncle’s will her grandfather is 
made sole executor, which by the way,” Morris added as 
an after-thought, “is quite unusual. In the settlement 
of so large an estate there are usually two or more. Am 
I not right?” Again appealing to Duvall. 

“Quite right. The work is too great for any one man.” 

“I quite agree with you, Mr. Duvall, and especially is 
it too great for a man as old as your grandfather, Miss 
Brent—a man who has been in retirement these many 
years. I can see that the strain is already beginning to 
tell upon him. Hadn’t you noticed it?” 

Mary admitted that she had. 

“Now my idea is this,” continued Morris confidentially: 
“In the settlement of the estate, I would suggest that 
you ask the court to appoint a coadjutor—an assistant 
executor, so to speak—who not only can advise wisely, 
but who will take the matter largely out of your grand¬ 
father’s hands. I would be glad to do this myself, but 
Mr. Brent seems to have taken a dislike to me.” 

“Who else is there?” inquired Mary, her thoughts so 
full of sorrow that she scarcely comprehended what 
Morris was saying, “Mr. Duvall perhaps?” 

The suggestion was so unexpected that neither of the 
men was prepared for it. Duvall could not fail to see 
the advantage that would accrue to him and replied in 
his most diplomatic tone: 

“Really, Miss Brent, this is something entirely new 
to me; but if you wish—” 

“I don’t think Mr. Duvall has had the requisite exper¬ 
ience,” interrupted Morris frowning savagely upon the 
speaker, “and, besides he is needed where he is. I would 


194 


MATTHEW BRENT 


suggest Gilson Gage. He is a strong man and was much 
in the confidence of your uncle.” 

Realizing his position, Duvall saw that it was much 
better to acquiese. 

“Well, yes, he might do. In fact I think he would, 
but—” 

Whatever his objection might have been it was not 
spoken, for Billy hastily entered and announced that Mr. 
Duvall was wanted below. 

“I am sorry to lose Mr. Duvall’s advice,” said Morris 
with seeming regret as the door closed behind him, “but 
I think you and I can settle this thing very easily.” 

He spread upon the table before her an important look¬ 
ing document, which impressed upon Mary her own in¬ 
significance. 

“In this paper,” continued Morris, “Your Uncle’s 
attorney, Judge Everett, has set forth your grandfather’s 
lack of experience in financial affairs, and in your behalf 
asks the court to appoint a coadjutor. He has left the 
name blank; but, if you approve, I shall be glad to insert 
the name of Mr. Gage, who I feel sure will accept. I—” 

Again the conversation was interrupted by the entrance 
of Billy. 

“What is it?” Morris asked sharply as Billy stopped 
in front of him. 

“Mr. Gage is waiting outside to see you.” 

Morris arose in apparent surprise. 

“How fortunate,” he exclaimed. “Ask him to come 
right in.” 

While Billy went to execute his order Morris continued: 
“If you say so, Miss Brent, I will insert Mr. Gage’s name 
now.” 

For a moment Mary hesitated. 

“Surely, Mr. Morris ought to know,” she thought, “and 
Mr. Gage is an honorable man.” Aloud, she said: “Just 


MATTHEW BRENT 


195 


as you say, Mr. Morris. I seem to have lost my faith 
in everyone and to be without a friend.” 

“Don’t say that, Miss Brent. I shall always be glad 
to advise you in any way I can. I am sure you will not 
regret this action.” 

He took a pencil from his pocket and wrote the name 
of Gilson Gage in the document, as that gentleman 
entered the door followed by Billy. 

“Ah, Gage,” he exclaimed, rising from his chair, “we were 
just talking about you. I have suggested to Miss Brent 
that she apply to the court to have you appointed co-ex¬ 
ecutor of her uncle’s estate—that is, if you will accept?” 

Gage affected a well-feigned surprise. 

“Of course,” he said in a hesitating manner, “I have 
never considered such an appointment; but if Miss Brent 
desires, I shall certainly accept.” Then to Mary: “Your 
confidence is indeed gratifying.” 

Mary made no reply, the only comment being an 
inaudible one by Billy who again muttered something 
about “a nice pair of crooks,” as he sat down at his 
typewriter. 

“There will be very little work to the position,” 
explained Morris to Gage, “and we are very anxious that 
you accept—are we not, Miss Brent?” 

“Yes,” replied Mary mechanically, “Very.” 

To herself she was thinking, “How could Arthur deceive 
me so?” 

Taking his fountain pen from his pocket, Morris 
offered it to her saying: “Now if you will just sign this 
application, we can have the matter attended to at once.” 

Mary took the pen and drew the paper towards her in 
a hesitating manner. 

“I wouldn’t want to do anything to hurt Daddy’s 
feelings,” she said as she held the pen poised in her fingers. 

“This is not a question of sentiment,” declared Morris. 


196 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“It is a question of saving the estate—and if you will 
permit me to say it, also of saving your grandfather.” 

With an air of determination, Mary drew the paper 
toward her and slowly wrote her name. 

“There,” she exclaimed as she handed the pen back to 
Morris. “It is done. I hope it will be for the best.” 

“There is no doubt of it, Miss Brent. This act of 
yours will simplify matters greatly. I congratulate you 
upon your wisdom.” 

Mary arose and pulled on her gloves in a listless 
manner. 

“If there is nothing more, Mr. Morris, I think I should 
like to go home.” 

“Certainly! Certainly! I trust this matter has not 
been too great a strain upon you. Mr. Gage, will you 
kindly show Miss Brent to her car.” 

“With pleasure,” and Gage showed Mary to the door, 
remarking to Morris as they departed: “When the 
appointment is made let me know.” 

For just a moment after the two had left the room, 
Morris stood rubbing his hands with a satisfied air. Then 
he handed Billy the document Mary had just signed. 

“Write in this name on the typewriter,” he ordered, 
indicating where he had written in the name of Gilson Gage 
with a lead pencil, “and take it up to Judge Everett at 
once. Tell him I want him to present it to Judge Ipswich 
this morning and get immediate action—within the hour 
if possible.” 

“Yes, sir,” was Billy’s reply as he began rubbing out 
the lead pencil marks with an eraser. “Shall I write the 
name in here?” 

“Of course; and be quick about it.” 

Billy put the paper into the machine. For just a 
moment he hesitated as he asked: 

“You said the same name, didn’t you?” 


MATTHEW BRENT 


197 


“Yes! yes! Gilson Gage; and rush it up to Judge 
Everett at once.” 

As Billy proceeded to execute his order, Morris turned 
to the telephone and called up Duvall. 

“Miss Brent has applied to the court to have Gilson 
Gage appointed co-executor of her uncle’s estate,” he 
explained. “As soon as the appointment is made, see that 
an ‘Extra’ is rushed out.” 

He turned from the telephone with a satisfied air, just 
in time to see Billy disappearing through the door on his 
errand to the lawyer’s office. 

“Well, well,” he exclaimed again rubbing his hands 
together. “Not a bad morning’s work. If Bowen’s 
appointment can be held up for forty-eight hours longer, 
I’ll be safe.” 


CHAPTER XX 


M ORRIS had barely finished his reflections and 
returned to his own office, when voices were heard in 
the hallway, and Matthew and Durham entered. 

“I do not wish to hear any further explanations,” 
declared Matthew emphatically as he removed his over¬ 
coat and hat. “I see I have been greatly mistaken in 
you. You are not the kind of a man I should wish my 
granddaughter to marry.” 

“But, Mr. Brent,” explained Durham, “I—” 

“There are no buts,” interrupted Matthew seating him¬ 
self at his desk and busying himself with his papers as 
he talked. “I see you are one of those same, money-mad 
speculators, whose only aim in life is to pile up dollars 
at the expense of others.” 

“Pile up dollars!” exclaimed Durham. “Great Scott, 
I wish I could!” and he looked fiercely at the old man. 

“No good purpose can be served by the accumulation 
of more wealth than your needs demand,” Matthew con¬ 
tinued with emphasis. “Weath so accumulated becomes 
a power for evil, instead of for good. I’ll hear no more 
of it.” 

“But I insist that you do hear me,” and Durham laid his 
hand upon Matthew’s shoulder. “I’m not building up 
my fortune at the expense of others. I’m simply trying 
to use what I have in such a manner that those depending 
upon me shall be cared for in the proper manner.” 
Matthew regarded him earnestly for several moments. 
198 


MATTHEW BRENT 


199 


“If this were your real object,” he said, “you would 
divide the money you have among those associated with 
you—just as I am going to divide my brother’s estate.” 
Then as he turned to his work: “No ! no ! Until you change 
your way of thinking, I shall not permit you to marry 
my granddaughter. You would spoil her life.” 

The conversation was interrupted by Morris, who 
returned for a memorandum book he had left on the desk. 

“Ah, good morning, Mr. Morris!” said Matthew 
cheerily as he noted who it was. “I am a little late this 
morning. I though my granddaughter was here.” 

“She was for a few minutes, but she has gone down—” 

“Then I’ll hurry up and catch her,” and Durham 
hastily left the room, stopping in the door long enough 
to say to Matthew: “Remember what I tell you, Mr. 
Brent. It is a dangerous thing you are doing.” 

“I know what I am about,” was the reply. “If Simon 
was a failure I’ll prove that I am not.” 

“You are still determined to carry out your wild 
scheme, are you?” asked Morris as he stopped a moment 
by Matthew’s desk. 

“Wild? I see nothing wild about it. I am simply 
winding up my brother’s business and arranging to give 
back to the rightful owners the millions ground out of 
them by Simon’s greed.’* 

“Impossible!” declared Morris. “Impossible and 
impracticable!” 

Matthew leaned back in his chair and shoved his hands 
into his pockets. 

“I see nothing impracticable or impossible in what I 
am doing. We have all the machinery with which the 
money was accumulated. The same machinery must 
distribute it. I have asked all persons having just claims 
to any portion of this estate to present them in writing. 
As they come in, we will consider and pass upon them.” 


200 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“Pardon me, Mr. Brent,” said Morris with an accent 
on the personal pronouns, “we will do nothing of the kind. 
I absolutely refuse to have anything to do with this 
absurd affair.” 

“What’s that?” demanded Matthew leaning forward in 
his chair. “You won’t!” 

“No, sir; I won’t.” 

Again Matthew plunged his hands into his pockets and 
surveyed Morris from head to foot. 

“Who are you, anyhow?” he finally asked. “What 
interest have you in this affair? As I understand it, you 
are simply an employe, and if you refuse to help me, as 
an honorable man should—if you refuse to obey my 
orders, I shall dispense with your services. Do you under¬ 
stand?” and Matthew smote the desk with his fist. 

For a moment Morris hesitated. He was playing a 
deep game, and to be dismissed at this time would ruin 
his whole future. 

He was quick to see his mistake and after a moment’s 
pause replied diplomatically: “I shall be glad to do any¬ 
thing I can in reason to settle up this estate; but as for 
passing upon these claims—I simply cannot do it. I 
cannot conscientiously do it.” 

Matthew scratched his chin and silently pondered for 
several minutes. 

“Oh, very well,” he finally said, “turn the claims over 
to me.” Then, sternly, as Morris turned to leave the 
room. “But remember, Mr. Morris, that we have gone out 
of business. No more speculating. No more gambling 
with stocks and food.” 

He resumed his seat while Morris returned to his office 
to await the action of the court and his hour of triumph 
over Matthew and Durham. 

Left alone, Matthew remained silently thoughtful for 
several minutes, going over in his mind the things he had 


MATTHEW BRENT 201 

done during the past few days and estimating the progress 
he had made. 

His meditation was eminently satisfactory and he 
turned to his work with a calm mind, despite the fact that 
the whole proceeding was looked upon by the world at 
large as the most gigantic piece of tomfoolery any man 
had ever conceived. 

Matthew’s remarkable announcement had been pub¬ 
lished on Saturday and it was now Tuesday. 

On Sunday his action had been the news feature of the 
day. 

On Monday, having determined that the only way to 
stop making money was to stop business, he had issued 
an order that after that day there was to be no more 
buying of any kind and no selling except for cash. 

“I want no more more dealings in futures,” he declared. 
“It is simply gambling.” 

He had not stopped to consider what these orders 
meant, nor had he yet learned that every crank, crook 
and confidence man in the country was busy figuring out 
some scheme whereby he might at least pocket a few of 
Simon Brent’s dollars. 

Already the condition in financial circles and among 
the thousands of employes of the industrial concerns 
controlled by the estate, were dangerously near a panic. 
The employes were about evenly divided between fear of 
losing their places and the hope of having turned over 
to them the whole of the business. In fact, in the dis¬ 
tribution of so large a sum, it seemed impossible to those 
who had little or nothing, that they should be entirely 
barred from the feast. 

Having finished his mental review Matthew turned to 
his desk and began sorting over the papers thereon, with 
never a thought of the multitudinous matters that were 
being attended to in the adjoining offices. 


202 


MATTHEW BRENT 


With absolutely no knowledge of what was actually 
transpiring, he was as ignorant of the real condition 
of affairs as when on the other side of the globe. He 
was perfectly satisfied, in his ignorance, that he had by 
a word separated the entire estate from the business 
world. 

As a matter of fact there was never greater need for 
a guiding hand. Several times during the next half hour 
Morris was tempted to submit to Matthew questions that 
demanded his attention; but refrained in the expectation 
of the court’s action. 

“It would only make matters worse,” Morris said to 
himself, “and I had better wait until Gage is placed in 
charge.” 

Left to his own devices, Matthew was right in the midst 
of a most interesting paper when the telephone bell rang. 

“I wonder who connected that thing up,” he said with 
a frown. 

Unconsciously he looked around for Billy, but Billy 
had not yet returned. He tried to resume his work, but 
the ringing of the telephone interrupted him. For a 
moment he stopped and eyed it with trepidation. 

“I wonder if I dare,” he mused. “I reckon I’ll have to,” 
he finally added as the ringing continued. 

He picked up the ’phone in much the same manner that 
he had pulled the Portuguese sailor to his feet. 

“Hello!” he called. “Hello! That’s what I said. 
Hello!” There was a pause. “Can’t you come a little 
nearer. You seem a long ways off. No? You’re in 
Jersey City?” 

A smile spread itself over Matthew’s face. 

“We used to say that was a long way from New York,” 
he remarked more to himself than to the telephone. Then 
after a pause: “Yes, I’m Matthew Brent.” 

Still another pause, while over Matthew’s face there 


MATTHEW BRENT 


203 


spread a broader smile—a smile that would have proved 
a winning advertisement for any pain exterminator. 

“Oh, you’re a newspaper man?” he finally said into the 
phone. “I’m a newspaper man myself. Yes. I was on 
the Tri-bune fifty years ago—Horace Greeley’s paper. 
Great man, Greeley—ever meet him? Yes? What? You 
don’t say so! Well, well, I am glad to know you. Can’t 
you come over to see me? Huh? What? Oh, you have 
a claim against my brother’s estate? Well! Well! Bring 
it right over. I’ll be glad to see you. When? Oh, any 
time, any time. Good bye!” and he hung up the telephone 
with an air of satisfaction, just as Billy entered the 
room. 

“What do you think,” he exclaimed turning to Billy, 
“I was just talking to a man who used to know Greeley. 
I’ll be glad to see him.” 

“So will I, sir,” replied Billy. “He must be a good one 
if he’s anything like you.” 

He approached the desk and laid a handful of letters 
before Matthew. 

“Mr. Morris told me to give you these.” 

“What are they?” and Matthew eyed them askance. 

“Mr. Morris said they were claims. He said you would 
understand.” 

“Oh, yes, yes,” and Matthew picked up one and opened 
it. “Let’s see what it is.” 

Billy stood at attention while Matthew read: 

“Matthew Brent. Dear Sir: Forty years ago I owned 
an acre of land on Riverside Drive, near where Grant’s 
Tomb is now located. I sold it to Simon Brent for two 
thousand dollars—” 

“Two thousand dollars!” commented Matthew. “Well 
that seems a pretty good price.” 

He resumed his reading: “With the improvements it 
is now worth five hundred thousand. Kindly—” 


204 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“What’s this,” and he held out the letter at arms length; 
“Kindly send me a check for four hundred and ninety- 
eight thousand dollars that your brother beat me out of. 
Signed Michael Murphy.” 

“Gee!” exclaimed Billy. “He’s got his nerve with him, 
ain’t he?” 

Matthew looked at the boy over the top of his spec¬ 
tacles. 

“It does seem a rather questionable claim, doesn’t it, 
William? You don’t happen to know who Michael Mur¬ 
phy is, do you?” 

Billy shook his head: “Never heard of Michael; but 
the last name sounds mighty familiar. It’s a wondei 
he didn’t want the whole estate!” 

“I wonder what I’d better do with it?” soliloquized 
Matthew as he turned it over and re-read it. 

“Well,” suggested Billy scratching his head, “if I 
was you I’d file it.” 

Matthew looked at him in surprise. “You’d what?” 

“I’d file it. Put it in here,” and Billy picked up one 
of the letter files which lay on the desk. 

Matthew’s face brightened and he heaved a sigh of 
relief. 

“Oh, yes, I see, for future reference.” 

He passed it over to the boy who proceeded to file it, 
remarking to himself as Matthew picked up another letter: 
“I was sure I could run this business if I had a chance,” 
then, aloud, as he noted a puzzled expression on Matthew’s 
face: “Is that another to be filed?” 

“No, I think I’ll answer this.” 

“What does he want ?” 

“I’ll read it to you.” And again he read: “Matthew 
Brent, Dear Sir:—Ten months ago I bought five hundred 
shares of the Brent Sugar Refinery Company stock at 
one thirty. I have received but one dividend, whereas, 


MATTHEW BRENT 


205 


other sugar stock has been paying quarterly dividends of 
five percent. Either send me another dividend or take 
the stock off of my hands. You may have it for one forty. 
Signed, Silas Flint.” 

“Say, he’s a real financier,” declared Billy. “We ought 
to have him on our payroll.” 

“He may be a financier,” declared Matthew, “but I 
don’t like the tone of his letter. I’ll write him. Is there 
pen and ink handy?” 

“Oh, I’ll take your letter, Mr. Brent,” said Billy. 

“What?” ? 

“I say I’ll take your letter for you,” and Billy picked 
up a notebook from the typewriter desk. 

“You mean on your typewriter?” 

“Yes; just tell it to me and I’ll write it out for you.” 

Matthew eyed the youth suspiciously. 

“I’m not sure,” he said slowly, “that I care to have you 
know what I say.” 

“Oh, that’s all right,” replied Billy quickly, “I’ve 
done plenty of your brother’s letters.” 

“What? You’ve written letters for Simon?” 

“Sure! Why if Mr. Simon had lived. I’d have got 
somewhere. He was interested in me.” 

“Then you must know something about this business?” 

“You bet I do! I know a lot more than some folks 
give me credit for.” 

All of which was more or less true. While Billy may 
have exaggerated his own importance, it is nevertheless 
true that during the last months of his life, Simon Brent 
had taken a great interest in Billy, possibly because Mary 
did. In his quizzical way he would ask the young man 
questions, just to hear his sharp answers—for self- 
assurance was Billy’s greatest asset. 

Matthew rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he observed 
Billy with an expression most benign. 


206 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“You wouldn’t consider that you were betraying my 
brother’s confidence, would you, William, by telling me 
what he thought of Mr. Morris and Mr. Gage?” 

“No, sir. I think I ought to. He didn’t trust either 
one of them any further than he could see them, but 
Morris was the best he could do. I’ve heard him say that. 
Yes, and he had his eye on another one, sir.” 

“Yes? Who was that?” 

“Mr. Durham. He’s the coming man. He’ll be a 
regular Morgan some day!” 

“That’s just what I am afraid of!” declared Matthew 
with considerable fervor. “That’s just what I’m afraid 
of. He’s getting too rich,” and Matthew lapsed into a 
reverie, from which he was awakened by Billy saying: 

“If you ain’t going to write that letter, you might see 
the lady out in the other room.” 

“A lady. Bless me,” and Matthew came to himself. 
“Show her in.” 

Billy disappeared into the ante-room and returned 
shortly, ushering in a handsomely gowned woman, who 
without formality, approached the desk. 

Matthew arose in his chair to greet her. 

“Is this Mr. Matthew Brent?” she asked. 

Matthew nodded his head. 

“I called to see about some stock that I purchased 
through this office. I should like to realize on it.” 

Matthew’s face grew stern. 

“I’m not buying any stock,” he said coldly. “I’m 
trying to get rid of what we have.” 

“But I need the money,” urged the woman. 

“Well, I don’t need the stock,” was Matthew’s curt 
reply. 

“Ain’t you trying to give away some of these millions ?” 
asked Billy in an undertone. 

Matthew turned and eyed him in surprise. 


MATTHEW BRENT 


207 


“Of course. What’s this got to do with it?” 

“Seems to me this is a good chance to get rid of a 
bunch.” 

“How much do you want, Madam?” he finally asked. 

“Twenty thousand dollars.” 

“What?” and Matthew’s voice expressed the utmost 
surprise. “Twenty thousand dollars! What on earth 
can a woman want with twenty thousand dollars?” 

The woman drew herself up proudly. 

“That is my business,” she said in a haughty manner. 
“I have been a client of this firm for years. I do not 
consider that I am obliged to tell why I want the money.” 

Matthew’s face grew red and he was about to reply, 
but Billy came diplomatically to the rescue, remarking to 
the fair client: 

“Mr. Brent doesn’t understand, Mrs. Uptown. He 
means all right. I’d tell him if I was you.” 

“Well, for one thing,” replied the client somewhat mol¬ 
lified, “I want a new model machine.” 

“Machine?” snapped Matthew. “Sewing machines don’t 
cost twenty thousand dollars.” 

“Sewing machines?” exclaimed the woman, “who said 
anything about sewing machines? I’m talking about a 
touring car. That’s forty-five hundred and,” she con¬ 
tinued speaking rapidly, “I need a new twenty 
horse-power runabout. That’s two thousand. The high 
cost of living has increased my household expenses up to 
three thousand a month. I owe my milliner two hundred 
and my tailor nineteen hundred. I want to refurnish my 
cottage and—” 

“Never mind the rest,” broke in Matthew. “Never 
mind the rest. Come back in half an hour and I’ll tell 
Morris to let you have it. William, show the lady out,” 
and the old gentleman sank into his chair with a sigh 
of relief. 


208 


MATTHEW BRENT 


Later, when Billy returned from “showing the lady 
out,” he said with considerable severity: “Wiliiam, let 
this be a warning to you never to marry.” 

“All right, sir; but she’s one of Mr. Brent’s regular 
customers and I knew you’d want to acommodate her. 
Now how about the letter, sir?” 

“Oh, yes,” picking up the letter, “my mind wandered 
a little.” He slowly began to dictate: “Mr. Silas Flint, 
Dear Sir:—In reply to your valued communication—” 
he stopped and looked at Billy. “I thought you were going 
to write it on the typewriter?” 

“I take it down in my notebook first.” 

“What, are you a stenographer?” with the accent on 
the ‘graph’. 

“Sure.” 

“You don’t say so. In my days stenographers drew 
good salaries.” 

He surveyed the boy over his spectacles. “How much 
do you get?” 

Billy hesitated ere he replied: “Well, not as much as I’d 
like. You know that while your brother was a fine man, 
he was pretty close.” 

“Yes, I know; but how much do you get?” 

“Twelve fifty per!” 

“Per what ?” 

“Per week, to be sure. I ought to get at least seven¬ 
teen fifty.” 

Matthew leaned back in his chair and eyed the boy 
earnestly. 

“Do you mean to say that for this kind of work you 
only get twelve dollars and a half a week—and this estate 
valued at a billion?” 

“That’s it, sir. I know I ought to have a raise, but 
I wouldn’t ask Morris for it if I never got it.” 

Matthew drew a piece of paper toward him and for 


MATTHEW BRENT 209 

several minutes figured slowly. At length raising his head 
he said : 

“After this your salary will be just eight times that.” 

Billy’s chin dropped and his eyes fairly bulged out of 
his head. 

“W-What?” he stammered. “Eight times that? You 
don’t mean it!” 

“Do I look as though I were joking?” demanded 
Matthew sternly. “After this your salary will be one 
hundred dollars a week as long as you help me in disposing 
of this estate.” 

Billy’s face paled and his hand shook so he could hardly 
hold his pencil. He would have made some reply had he 
been able. As it was the thought flashed through his 
mind that Matthew certainly was insane, but before he 
could speak the old gentleman continued dictating and 
Billy took it down as follows: 

“In reply to your valued communication, permit me to 
say that I think your claim unwarranted. As for the 
stock—as for the stock—” he paused and thought earn¬ 
estly. “What about the stock, William?” he finally asked. 

Without even stopping the movement of his pencil, the 
boy continued aloud. “Kindly deliver same to my office. 
We will be glad to take it at one forty, the price named 
in your letter.” 

“But I don’t want the stock, William,” insisted 
Matthew. 

“That’s all right,” was the young man’s quick reply. 
“He won’t bring it. It’s quoted at one forty-two this 
morning. Is that all?” 

“No. As long as we are at it, I think we had better 
answer some more of these,” indicating the pile of letters. 
“It doesn’t seem so hard, does it?” 

“Sure not, if you only know how. What have you got 
there?” 


210 


MATTHEW BRENT 


Matthew opened the letter which he had just picked up, 
and glanced over it for a moment without saying any¬ 
thing, while his face brightened. 

“This seems to be a little different from the others. 
It says,” and he read: “In eighteen eighty, Simon 
Brent loaned my father six hundred dollars to pay off 
the mortgage on his farm. My father—” 

The buzzer on the desk interrupted the reading. 

“What’s that?” Matthew asked, looking around. 

“It’s for me,” replied Billy. “Excuse me, I’ll be back 
in a minute.” 

He hastily left the room while Matthew continued to 
read: “My father has never paid any interest and, be¬ 
cause he was a cripple, you brother never asked him for 
it.” 

Matthew’s heart warmed within him as he remarked to 
himself: “Well, that was kind of Simon. I’m so glad 
to learn of one good deed anyway.” 

He returned to the letter. 

“The note is somewhere among your brother’s papers,” 
he read. 

Again he paused and cast his eyes over the pile of 
files, books and papers that were stacked on the desk. 
Then he resumed his reading. 

“The note is somewhere among your brother’s papers. 
As he is dead, the note is of no use to him. Will you 
kindly have it sent back to me. Signed, Mercy Ann 
Strong.” 

Matthew shook his head: “And she never said even so 
much as ‘thank you.’ ” 

Once more his musings were interrupted by the tele¬ 
phone, which he hastened to answer. 

“Yes, this is Simon Brent’s office,” is what Billy heard 
as he came back. “What about cotton? Oh, it’s cheaper? 
Well the cheaper the better. No, we don’t want any cot- 


MATTHEW BRENT 


211 


ton. We’ve gone out of business.” He hung up the ’phone 
as he noticed that Billy was waiting for something. 
“What is it?” he asked. 

“There’s a lot of people out there waiting to see you.” 

“To see me?” 

“Yes, sir. And there’s another woman.” 

“Like the other one?” and Matthew nodded his head 
toward the door through which his previous visitor had 
departed. 

“No, sir, this one seems different. I’ve never seen her 
before.” 

“Very well, show her in,” and in less time than it would 
take to tell it, Billy ushered in a comparatively young 
woman dressed in black. She, too, without waiting for 
any greeting, walked straight up to Matthew’s desk. 

“I see by the papers,” she exclaimed, “that you are 
going to right all the wrongs done by Simon Brent.” 

Matthew leaned back in his chair and regarded her 
calmly. 

“To the best of my ability, madam. What—what 
wrong did my brother ever do you?” 

“He promised to marry me.” 

Matthew leaned forward and regarded her in the great¬ 
est surprise. 

“You astonish me. I didn’t know that Simon ever had 
time to become engaged.” 

“Well, he had. He was engaged to me and I demand—” 

“My dear lady,” stammered Matthew, “I—I—I should 
like to oblige you, but I’m not a marrying man. Why— 
why, how long ago was this ?” 

“Thirty years.” 

“As long as that? It seems impossible, you look so 
young.” 

“I’m old enough to know my rights. You’ve got to do 
something for me or I’ll make trouble.” 


212 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“Madam, we don’t want any trouble,” urged Matthew 
solicitously, “and we’ll do the best to right this wrong— 
if wrong has been done. Why didn’t Simon marry you?” 

“Why,” she snapped, “because I married a better man 
than Simon Brent ever dared to be; but he’s dead.” 

Matthew started in surprise. “Well, so is Simon.” 

“I know he is, but if Simon Brent had married me I 
would have had all of his money. Now I haven’t a dollar 
and I’m desperate.” 

She pounded the desk and eyed him fiercely. 

Matthew’s face grew stern and his hands clasped con¬ 
vulsively. If he had been in Tonga he would have called 
Tippo-Tib and had her taken away. As it was he didn’t 
know what to do. Seeing from her attitude, however, 
that she was about to break forth again he finally ex¬ 
claimed : 

“Now, madam, be calm. We want no scene here. You 
say you haven’t a dollar?” 

“No, sir, not a dollar.” 

“Too bad! Too bad! And you say Simon never did 
anything for you?” 

“Not a thing,” and she hid her face in her hands as 
though weeping. 

“Not a thing,” repeated Matthew, “and with all these 
millions.” 

Slowly he put his hand into his pocket and drew 
therefrom his old-fashioned wallet. Out of it he slowly 
extracted a ten dollar bill which he handed to the woman. 

“Make it go as far as you can,” he said. “William, 
show the lady out.” 

The boy did as bidden, while Matthew slowly entered 
the amount in his memorandum book. 

“I have to keep a strict account of all I pay out,” he 
said. “But, William, I don’t think I’ll see the others now.” 

“If he don’t give it away any faster than that,” thought 


MATTHEW BRENT 


21& 

the boy as Matthew returned the memorandum to hia 
pocket, “I guess there’ll be plenty left to pay my hundred 
per.” 

Once more the buzzer sounded and Billy left the room 
while Matthew leaned back wearily in his chair and cast 
his eyes toward the ceiling. 

“To think that Simon really had time to fall in love,” 
he mused. “It doesn’t seem possible,” and again he cast 
his eye over the stack of papers on his desk. “It doesn’t 
seem possible, but maybe he worked faster than I do.” 
Then after a few moments silence: “I wonder what she 
looked like thirty years ago.” 

It was not until he stopped to contemplate what thirty 
years ago meant, that it slowly dawned upon him that 
thirty years previous his last caller could not have been 
more than a child in short dresses. The fact that he had 
been victimized was just beginning to dawn upon him, and 
he was getting considerably irritated when Billy entered 
followed by Mary. In his hand the boy carried a basket 
full of letters which he dumped on the desk. 

“Are you awfully busy, Daddy?” asked Mary sympa¬ 
thetically, as she came quickly over to the desk. 

Matthew’s face fairly beamed and for the moment he 
forgot his weariness. 

“Oh, no, no,” he replied, “just—just a few letters to 
read,” and he indicated with a sweep of his hand the 
pile that Billy had made. 

“A few? I think that’s an awful stack.” 

“Well, yes, there are a good many; but we have plenty 
of time. You know we’re going out of business.” 

“Going out of business? I noticed that they looked 
pretty busy in the other offices as I came through. I had to 
come that way because of the crowd in the hall,” she added 
with an air of great concern, as it slowly began to dawn 


214 


MATTHEW BRENT 


upon her how unfitted for the work her grandfather really 
was. 

“Oh, yes, there’s considerable work to do in settling up 
the estate. But what’s the matter, child? You look sad,” 
and he regarded her solicitously. 

“It’s about you, Daddy—and—and Arthur; I’m afraid 
he isn’t what I thought he was, either?” 

“No,” replied Matthew decisively. “I have discovered 
that.” 

Mary’s face assumed a startled expression. “Daddy,” 
she said quickly, “do you mean you have found out he 
is leading a double life?” 

“Exactly. I supposed he would agree perfectly with 
my plans about disposing of this estate; but now I find 
that he is as bad as Simon. He’s trying to see how much 
money he can make. We came very near quarreling 
today.” 

“That isn’t what I mean, Daddy,” and Mary’s voice 
expressed the deepest sorrow. “It’s worse than that. 
Worse than that, Daddy.” 

Matthew’s face assumed an expression of much concern. 
“You don’t tell me.” 

“Yes. He goes to late suppers and knows questionable 
people—people he wouldn’t dare let me know.” 

Matthew drew a deep sigh. “Men do,” he said. “Men 
in business go to many places where they couldn’t take 
their sisters and sweethearts.” 

Mary looked at him in surprise. “Why, Daddy! You 
never did!” 

Matthew slowly rubbed his chin. “Well—well, if I did, 
it is so long ago I don’t remember.” 

He leaned back in his chair, while his eyes took on a 
far-away look which drew Mary’s attention to his changed 
appearance. Laying her hand on his shoulder, she said 
gently: 


MATTHEW BRENT 


215 


‘‘Daddy, you’re tired. Put up your work and let’s 
go home—away from all this business and wickedness and 
excitement.” 

Matthew raised his head slowly. “Excitement? Why, 
there’s been no excitement here—except one poor woman 
—and her’s was feigned.” 

“There’s plenty of excitement outside, Daddy! I 
never saw so many excited people in my life. Why, I was 
actually afraid.” 

“You don’t tell me,” and Matthew raised himself on the 
arm of his chair. “What’s the cause?” 

Before Mary could answer, the outer door of the office 
flew open and admitted Durham, who turned and slammed 
the door behind him. 


CHAPTER XXI 


S TARTLED by the unexpected interruption, both 
Matthew and Mary cast upon Durham an inquiring 
look as he turned the key in the lock and stood breath¬ 
less before them. 

“Mr. Brent,” he finally managed to articulate between 
his gasps for breath, “have you any idea what you are 
doing?” 

Matthew arose with great dignity. “Of course I know 
what I am doing. I am investigating claims.” 

“That isn’t what I mean,” said Durham impatiently. 
“Do you know what you are doing in the Street—in the 
city—all over the country?” 

“Why, no,” with just a tinge of uncertainty in his 
voice. “What am I doing?” 

“You’re creating a riot. A panic. That’s what you’re 
doing.” 

“Riot? Panic?” 

“Yes, a panic in Wall Street and a riot on William 
Street. Mary, why don’t you tell him? You can see it!” 

Mary tossed her chin into the air and regarded the 
speaker frigidly. 

“Excuse me, Mr. Durham, I fail to see how this inters 
ests you.” 

Durham’s face paled and he looked at her in the ut¬ 
most surprise. 

“Mary, what do you mean?” 

“I mean I have found out all about your double life.” 
2X6 


MATTHEW BRENT 


217 


“What? You’ve found out about my double life? What 
do you mean? I hope you haven’t let your grandfather 
prejudice you against me, because—” 

“Sir,” interrupted Matthew sternly, “I have said 
nothing to prejudice her against anyone.” 

“No,” replied Mary, “my grandfather has said nothing 
except that he was disappointed in you.” 

“And that I shall not allow you to marry my grand¬ 
daughter, until you have changed your views,” continued 
Matthew. 

“Also your manner of life,” said Mary. “I wouldn’t 
marry a man who attends late suppers with questionable 
people.” 

“Mary,” interrupted Durham totally at a loss to under¬ 
stand her words, “what are you talking about?” 

Instead of replying Mary deliberately turned her back 
on him. 

Durham was so completely nonplused by her action, 
that for the moment he could not find words to express 
himself. While he was gathering his wits Billy suddenly 
entered. 

“There’s a man out here says he has an appointment 
with you, Mr. Brent. Says he knew Greeley.” 

“Yes, yes!” exclaimed Matthew, rising. “I know all 
about him. Show him right in, William. Show him 
right in.” Then to Arthur: “Excuse me, Mr. Durham, 
“there’s a gentleman coming to see me who was a friend 
of Horace Greeley.” 

With an eagerness he took no pains to conceal, Mat¬ 
thew advanced toward the door to greet his visitor. 

“The man who knew Greeley,” announced Billy as he 
ushered in a Russian Jew, possibly thirty-five years of 
age, who, with smiling face and hat crushed down on the 
back of his head, advanced with outstretched hands. 

Matthew drew back as though he had received a blow, 


218 


MATTHEW BRENT 


and without giving his visitor time to speak exclaimed 
in the greatest indignation: “What do you mean, sir? 
You never knew Horace Greeley, and you know it! Greeley 
died before you were born. You’re an imposter. A 
scoundrel, a villain! Get out of my office!” 

In vain did the visitor attempt to expostulate. Before 
he could say half a dozen words, Billy had seized him by 
the arm, and with a quick wrench rushed him out through 
the door, while Matthew sank back into his chair, wiping 
his face with his handkerchief. 

“The imposter! The imposter!” he muttered. “To 
think he would dare do such a thing.” 

Although greatly amused, the seriousness of the situ¬ 
ation caused Durham to say earnestly: “What else could 
you expect, Mr. Brent? Mary, can’t you help bring him 
to his senses?” 

“It is you who have lost your senses, don’t speak to 
me!” and Mary’s eyes glowed with excitement and resent¬ 
ment. 

“Oh, very well, then,” was Durham’s calm reply— 
although he felt anything but calm—“I see I am not 
needed here.” 

He turned to leave the room as Billy entered with 
another basketful of letters which he dumped on Mat¬ 
thew’s desk. 

“More claims,” he said. 

“What,” queried Matthew, “all these?” 

“Sure!” replied Billy. “How many dead beats do you 
think there are in New York, Mr. Brent?” 

“I have no idea. Why?” 

“Because that’s how many letters you’ll get.” 

“But—but, I don’t understand,” stammered Matthew. 

“Of course you don’t understand, Mr. Brent, neither 
you nor Mary,” said Durham earnestly as he turned 
back and laid his hand on the aged man’s shoulder. “If 


MATTHEW BRENT 


219 


you had understood you would not have done the things 
you have.” 

Matthew looked at him helplessly and was about to 
reply when Morris entered the room hastily. 

“Mr. Brent,” he exclaimed, “the market has gone to 
pieces, and you are to blame for it.” 

“IP” exclaimed Matthew innocently, glancing first at 
Morris, then at Durham and again at Morris. 

“Yes, you!” Morris fairly screamed. “You have given 
orders for no more trading. Without our orders to 
steady the market, prices on grain, cotton, and provisions 
have gone down—” 

“Well, that’s good for the public,” interrupted Mat¬ 
thew. 

“But such a sudden drop. It means ruin for hundreds 
whose money is invested,” declared Durham. 

“No, no!” exclaimed Matthew. “It is not so bad as 
that.” 

“Yes, as bad as that,” was Durham’s response. 
“Worse.” 

“Much w r orse,” added Morris. 

During this conversation Mary had remained silent, 
but now that her excitement had cooled, she could not 
fail to see that something serious had happened. Drawing 
close to Matthew, she took him by the arm. 

“Come, Daddy,” she said, “don’t you think you had 
better go home and let Mr. Morris manage things?” 

“Of course not,” was Matthew’s decided reply. “I 
have business to attend to. My place is here.” 

Billy entered and handed Durham a telegram. The 
young man’s face paled as he read. 

“Cotton has dropped to six cents. At this rate I’ll 
be bankrupt in half an hour. Do you hear,” he cried 
shaking the telegram in Matthew’s face, “bankrupt!” 

“Well, what have I to do with that?” 


220 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“What have you to do with it? Why, your brother’s 
mills are the largest consumers of cotton in the world and 
they have canceled all buying orders.” 

Matthew would have replied, had he not been inter¬ 
rupted by the entrance of Duvall. 

“Here’s news for you,” he said as he handed Morris a 
telegram which he read aloud: 

“The employes of the Squantuck mills declare they are 
the owners of the mills. They say that Simon Brent 
built them off of their labor and that the mills belong 
to them. They are sending a delegation to Matthew 
Brent to demand that he restore to them their property.” 

“What do you think of that, Mr. Brent?” 

“I think their claims are just; but they must be crazy 
to expect that it can be done as they ask.” 

“No,” replied Morris, “they’re not crazy; but you 
are.” 

Vigorous pounding on the outside door caused them all 
to start with apprehension. 

“What’s that?” asked Matthew as the noise increased. 

“There’s a mob out there,” declared Durham, “and 
they all want to see you.” 

“All right!” replied Matthew rising to his feet and 
squaring his shoulders; “let them in! I’ll see them! 
William open the door!” 

“No, no!” cried Mary throwing herself upon her grand¬ 
father. “Don’t do it. Oh, Daddy, this is awful!” Then 
turning to the others: “Isn’t there something we can do?” 

“Yes,” declared Durham emphatically. “Take him 
away. Get him into the private elevator and take him 
home.” 

Matthew drew back with an air of dignity, which little 
comported with the events transpiring around. 

“I refuse to go!” he said. “It is my duty to remain.” 

“It is your duty to help us bring order out of this 


MATTHEW BRENT 


221 


chaos. The whole thing has been a mistake. Give me 
power to act for you and I’ll do it!” said Durham in 
desperation. 

“Not if I die for it,” replied Matthew. “You’ll simply 
make matters worse.” 

“Worse? How could I make them worse?” 

“By increasing these millions!” and Matthew glared 
fiercely at the young man. 

Durham’s eyes snapped. 

“Can’t you see,” he said earnestly, “that your action 
is creating disaster? As a rich man you have duties 
which you cannot shirk! You must protect those depend¬ 
ent upon you. Now let me help you.” 

While Matthew hesitated, Morris exclaimed with a 
note of exultation in his voice: “I don’t think you need 
trouble about this, Mr. Durham. Miss Brent has already 
applied to the courts for a co-executor, who will take 
charge of the estate.” 

The words came as a thunderbolt from a clear sky. 

“What!” exclaimed Matthew looking at Mary. “Ap¬ 
plied to the courts? Mary applied to the courts? No! 
No! Impossible!” 

“But she has,” reiterated Morris. 

“Who is he to be?” demanded Durham. 

“Gilson Gage,” was Morris’s reply. He is probably 
appointed by this time.” 

The effect of the last announcement was entirely differ¬ 
ent from what had been expected. For just a moment 
Matthew looked about him in a dazed manner; then turn¬ 
ing to Mary he asked in a voice full of pathos: “Mary! 
Mary! Is it true? Have you let them turn you against 
your poor old Daddy?” 

Without waiting for a reply he sank again into his 
chair and bowed his head upon his desk. 

In a moment Mary was at his side. 


222 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“Daddy!” she cried as she bent over him and threw 
her arms about his neck. “Daddy, don’t do that! They 
told me it was the only thing to do; that you didn’t 
understand.” 

“Who told you?” demanded Durham. 

“Mr. Morris,” replied Mary, “and he says you’re not 
a proper adviser for grandfather.” 

“What? Morris told you that?” 

“Yes,” answered Mary through her tears. “He says 
you are a bad man. That you are leading a double life. 
Oh, Arthur, how could you do it?” 

“Do it? Do what?” was Durham’s fierce demand. “I 
haven’t done anything and the man who says I have is 
a liar.” He advanced toward Morris in a threatening 
manner. “A liar!” he repeated. “A liar! Do you hear?” 

Morris’s face blanched and he took a step backward. 

“I have no time now to waste with you. This is time 
for action.” 

His words aroused Matthew who sprang to his feet. 
Like Napoleon’s Old Guard, he could die, but he would 
never surrender. The Brent blood surged through his 
aged veins and he exclaimed vehemently: 

“You are right. It is time for action. Until we hear 
from the court I am master here. Mr. Morris, your 
presence is no longer desired. Go!” 

Morris’s face flushed but he made no move to obey. 

“I refuse to recognize your authority,” he replied de¬ 
fiantly, “until I see Gage.” 

“Gage!” shouted Matthew now thoroughly enraged, 
“Gage! Don’t talk to me about Gage.” 

The words had scarcely left his lips when Billy entered, 
bearing in his hand a legal envelope which he extended 
to Matthew. 

“From Judge Everett,” he explained. 

“You will have to talk about Gage!” cried Morris exult- 


MATTHEW BRENT 


223 


antly starting to take the envelope from Billy’s hand. 
“Here’s the notice of his appointment.” 

“No, you don’t!” said Billy as he gracefully thwarted 
Morris’s attempt and handed the document to Matthew. 
“Mr. Brent, you read it.” 

Slowly Matthew opened the envelope and drew out the 
paper. With trembling hands he unfolded it and read 
what was written across the top. 

“Notification of the appointment as coadjutor for the 
estate of Simon Brent of—Wh—What’s this?” 

He paused and glanced around and then continued 
reading: “Of Arthur L. Durham.” 

“Impossible!” fairly shouted Morris springing forward 
and snatching the paper from his hands. “Durham?” 

“Oh, Theodore!” exclaimed Billy. “I must have writ¬ 
ten in the wrong name.” 

Morris turned upon him as though he would annihilate 
him. “You little snake!” he hissed. “I’ll strangle you!” 

“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” declared Durham, 
quickly interfering and taking the paper from Morris’s 
hand, “and if I hear any more from you, I shall tell what 
I know about the death of Simon Brent.” 

Without a word, but with a look of extreme hatred 
which seemed to include every one present, Morris left the 
room while Durham, turning to Matthew, said firmly: 

“Mr. Brent, this appointment is not of my seeking.” 

“I can see that,” replied Matthew in a trembling voice 
as he slowly resumed his seat, “but it may be for the best.” 

“But, Daddy, I don’t trust him! I can’t trust him,” 
and Mary’s attitude was expressive of her words. 

Without replying, Durham coldly folded the document 
he held in his hand and put it into his pocket. 

“You’ll have to trust me, Miss Brent,” he said. “I will 
save you in spite of yourself.” 

He took the telephone from the desk, while Mary fell 


224 


MATTHEW BRENT 


on her knees at her grandfather’s feet exclaiming: “Oh, 
Daddy, we are so helpless.” 

Matthew made no reply, but sat as one stunned, mechan¬ 
ically patting the girl’s shoulder as when she knelt at 
his knee in childhood, the while he listened to Durham as he 
ripped off his orders to the various brokers and between 
calls dictated telegram after telegram to Billy. 

“Buy cotton at ten—all that’s offered! Buy a hundred 
thousand March wheat at two dollars! Take all gilt- 
edged securities offered at yesterday’s opening price! 
Loan at two percent., to the limit, account of the estate of 
Simon Brent!” were some of the orders with which Dur¬ 
ham startled the Street. To the superintendent of the 
cotton mills he wired: “Court in charge of Simon Brent 
estate. If employes do not return to work in morning, 
close down.” Then calling up the Planet he said to Duvall: 

“Announce the action of the court in an “Extra” and 
say that Matthew Brent is about to return to Tonga.” 

“Yes, to Tonga!” echoed Matthew as Durham set down 
the ’phone. “To Tonga: that’s the place for me. Come, 
Mary, let us go!” 

“What,” she said, “and leave the settling of the estate 
in Arthur Durham’s hands? Never!” 

For a moment Durham made no reply. Then he quickly 
took from his pocket the court order. 

“What I have done,” he said, “I have done to save 
both you and your grandfather from his folly. I now 
resign the trust which came to me unasked.” 

Without more words he slowly tore up the paper and 
scattered the pieces on the floor. 

“If at any time you need my further help,” he continued, 
“send for me. Until then, goodbye.” 

He opened the door, through which the police could be 
seen driving the false claimants out of the building, and 
disappeared down the elevator. 


CHAPTER XXII 


M ARY was never able to tell exactly what happened 
during the next few minutes, nor how she suc¬ 
ceeded in avoiding the mob that surged about the building. 

Durham had hardly left the office ere she regretted her 
words; but her pride would not allow her to call him back. 
In her extremity, she turned to Billy. The manner in 
which that dapper youth arose to the occasion proved 
him a young man of ability and discretion. 

With the aid of a couple of hastily summoned police¬ 
men, Matthew was smuggled down the private elevator, 
placed in a waiting taxi and driven home. He was com¬ 
pletely crushed. The sense of the great responsibility 
laid upon him and his helpless inability to fulfill its obliga¬ 
tions had broken his spirit. The discovery of Morris’s 
duplicity had been the last straw in his case, as it had 
been in Simon’s. 

For days after his last experience, Matthew remained 
absolutely secluded, unmindful of the fact that the great 
business interests must go on and that some one must 
direct them. He seemed stunned by the magnitude of 
events and the discovery that he had not the strength 
to carry out his intentions in this matter, as he had always 
been able to do heretofore. He was, in fact, very near 
to a complete physical and mental collapse. He was 
paying the penalty of attempting a work, which was not 
his to do. 

To express it in a somewhat paradoxical manner, Mat- 

225 


226 


MATTHEW BRENT 


thew was suffering from his wrong sense of right. The 
hopelessness of the situation, in so far as he was con¬ 
cerned, lay in his refusal to admit that he might be wrong. 

“I know I am right,” he insisted over and over again, 
“and no one can change my opinion.” 

When the force of the blow gradually began to pass 
away and Matthew began to regain a little of his wonted 
manner, his mind naturally reverted to affairs at the 
office; but he absolutely refused to go near the place. 

“If I am able to work at all,” he told Mary, “it will 
have to be amidst more harmonious surroundings. I’ll 
find some other place.” 

Then it was that the Brent in Mary really began to 
assert itself. 

“If Daddy is too sick to work and Arthur is false,” 
she mused, “to whom can I turn?” 

Presently her thoughts flew back to her Uncle Simon. 

“How did Uncle Simon manage all this great business?” 
she wondered. “He couldn’t do it all himself,” she 
reasoned. “He must have had good employes. Some of 
them must still be good. Why can’t I use them and wind 
up this estate myself?” 

That there were probably legal obstacles to this method 
of procedure she did not understand; therefore, having 
within her that which made her naturally independent, 
she determined to follow out this mental suggestion. 

The first to whom her thoughts turned was Billy. 

“Young as he is, he has never failed me yet and I’m sure 
he will not fail me now,” was her mental argument; and 
she forthwith summoned him to her assistance. 

Unwittingly she took a most wise step. Not only was 
Billy absolutely loyal to Mary and what he believed to be 
for her best interests, but his smiling face and breezy 
manner proved a veritable tonic to both Mary and her 
grandfather. 


MATTHEW BRENT 


227 


^Who is looking after the office now that Mr. Morris is 
out?” was Mary’s first question. 

“Oh, Morris is still there,” was Billy’s surprised reply, 
“but—” 

“What?” interrupted Matthew. “There after I dis¬ 
charged him ?” 

“Why, he didn’t know he was discharged. He thought 
you just ordered him out of the room; but he’s only play¬ 
ing second fiddle now. Prichard is in charge.” 

“Prichard?” and Matthew showed still greater sur¬ 
prise. “He told me he’d have nothing to do with settling 
the estate.” 

“That’s just Prichard’s way, Mr. Brent. You have 
to know how to handle him; that’s all. When Judge 
Everett asked him to look after things until you were able 
to be around, he was glad to do it.” 

“Oh 1” was Mary’s relieved exclamation. “Then it 
really is Judge Everett who is managing affairs?” 

“Well, in a way,” was Billy’s evasive reply. “You see, 
next to Prichard and me, Judge Everett, being your 
uncle’s lawyer, knew most about his business. He’s just 
seeing that nobody makes any mistakes.” 

Mary was now certain that she had acted wisely. With 
two such reliable assistants as Judge Everett and Billy, 
and with Prichard in charge at the office, she was sure 
she could wind up her uncle’s estate, if her grandfather 
would only permit. 

While she was thinking how she might win his consent 
to her plan, Matthew was lost in his own reflections. 

“How would it do, Mary,” he finally asked with some 
hesitation, “if we were to leave Prichard in charge of the 
office down town and I was to make my office right here?” 

Mary and Billy regarded him in mild surprise, but 
ere they could speak, he continued: “As I told you 
before, it is too disquieting down town for me. There are 


MATTHEW BRENT 


228 

too many interruptions. Now, if I could have the mail 
sent up here to me, with William’s help in writing my 
letters, I am sure I could eventually divide the estate 
without disturbing anyone. Of course, it will be a big 
job, and I am right sorry that Arthur wouldn’t stay 
and help me; but—” 

“I wouldn’t allow him to help you!” Mary interrupted. 
“I have no confidence in him. He leads a double life. 
Mr. Morris said so.” 

“Morris!” was Billy’s explosive utterance. “You 
wouldn’t believe anything Morris told you, would you?” 

Mary gave the youth a startled glance. 

“Well—well—well, not unless I had other proof; but 
Arthur admitted he had two sides. Anyway, we’ll have to 
get along without him now. I shall go and see Judge 
Everett this afternoon.” 

When Mary called upon the attorney, she was agree¬ 
ably surprised at the readiness with which he fell in with 
her plans. To be sure, he looked a bit sceptical when she 
declared that she could manage the estate as well as her 
Uncle Simon, but that was to be expected. 

“As long as Mr. Durham has refused to do anything 
more,” she said, “I can’t see what else I can do. Of 
course,” she added, “I am very glad he had the decency to 
quit, as he knows I have no confidence in him. With two 
such good advisors as you and Billy, and—” 

“I don’t think you quite understand,” said Judge 
Everett, breaking in upon her. “While this is all to be 
yours some day, there are certain legal formalities to be 
complied with before you can take over the entire manage¬ 
ment. If I had such a good friend—” 

“Such a good friend?” interrupted Mary, and there 
was a snap in her eyes that recalled Simon Brent. 
“Whom do you mean?” 

“Why—why—the court, to be sure,” and the attorney. 


MATTHEW BRENT 


229 


seeing that he was treading on dangerous ground, buried 
his face deep in the papers on his table, while he added 
slowly: “Yes, the court will see that nothing illegal is 
done.” 

“Oh!” and Mary heaved a deep sigh. 

“As matters now stand,” Judge Everett continued, “the 
court is in charge of the estate. Whatever you do, must 
be with the sanction of the court. It will always be 
necessary for you to get the written approval of your 
grandfather to any plan you may have for settling the 
estate, so I can see that you will have to be very 
diplomatic.” 

“Oh, I can see that,” was the prompt reply, “but I do 
not think it is going to be as hard to manage Daddy as it 
was before his last experience. He is much changed. I 
do wish you would come out and see him. It would do him 
so much good!” 

Judge Everett promised that he would try, and Mary 
took her departure, going directly from the offices of the 
lawyer to those of her uncle. There she was warmly 
received by Prichard, who had already been advised by 
Judge Everett to manifest no surprise at what she might 
say. 

“I will explain later,” the lawyer had ’phoned. “All you 
have to do for the present is to agree with her.” 

Prichard was considerably puzzled by the message, but 
when Mary unfolded to him her intention of managing the 
business herself, it was with the greatest difficulty that the 
aged clerk could refrain from laughing outright. 

In spite of his amusement, however, he was greatly 
pleased. 

“She’s a Brent all right,” he thought, as he listened in 
silence to what she had to say. “Just put a few more 
years on to her head and Simon won’t have any cause to 
worry—wherever he is.” 


230 


MATTHEW BRENT 


When she had finished her talk, Prichard said with the 
utmost gravity; “I’ll have your private office put into 
shape for you at once. It’s just as Matthew left it.” 

Mary laughed merrily. 

“I’m not going into the business that deep,” she said; 
“at least for the present. Daddy and I will keep out of 
the way and let you and Judge Everett manage things 
here. But,” and she shook her finger in the old clerk’s 
face, “I’m going to keep my eye on you to see that you 
don’t try to make any more money; so you’d better look 
out.” 

Prichard rubbed his hands together as he chortled 
under his breath: “That’s just the way your Uncle Simon 
used to talk. Oh, you’re a Brent all right! You’re a 
Brent all right!” 

As she was leaving the offices, Mary encountered 
Morris, who had been on the watch for her ever since he 
knew she was in the building. She would have passed 
him with a simple “good afternoon,” but he stopped her 
with a word. 

“I am very sorry for what happened the other day,” he 
said in his most dignified manner. “I feel that it is but 
just that you should know that what I did was solely for 
your interests.” 

Mary acknowledged his explanation with equal dignity. 

“I should like to think so, Mr. Morris,” was her quiet 
rejoinder, “but events hardly corroborate your words.” 

“Because I was thwarted in my efforts, Miss Brent. 
Had Mr. Gage been appointed to aid your grandfather, 
you can see how much better it would have been. Now, he 
is left with no advisor.” 

“You mistake! Judge Everett is acting as his advisor.” 

“Which is all very well in a legal way; but Judge 
Everett is not a financier. There isn’t a man on the 
Street today who is as well qualified to manage your 


MATTHEW BRENT 


mi 


affairs as Gilson Gage. I am not criticising Arthur Dur¬ 
ham, but he is a young man—” 

“It is quite unnecessary to mention Mr. Durham,*’ was 
Mary’s chilling interruption, and she swept out of the 
offices, leaving Morris in open-eyed astonishment. 

“Can it be possible that Durham has lost out?” he 
muttered, as he returned to his desk. 

For some minutes he remained there silently thoughtful. 
Then he came to his feet with a bound. 

“It must be so!” he exclaimed under his breath. “It 
must be so! What a fool I was not to see it before. I 
must see Gage and open his eyes, too.” 

Opening a secret drawer in his desk, he took therefrom 
the little book upon which he had made his notations the 
day Durham was appointed co-executor. As he glanced 
over its pages a self-satisfied smile spread itself over his 
face, while about the corners of his mouth there came 
the shadow of a malicious purpose. 

“I may have failed to become secretary of the 
treasury,” he said to himself as he took his hat and left 
the office, “but if Matthew and the girl persist in making 
fools of themselves, there is no reason why I should not 
feather my nest. If they are determined to give away 
Simon Brent’s millions, I might as well have some of 
them.” 


CHAPTER XXIII 


G ILSON Gage was far from affable when Morris en¬ 
tered his office that afternoon. He was still smarting 
from the wound inflicted upon his pride by Morris’s fiasco 
in the appointment of a co-executor, and he took no 
pains to conceal his anger. He acknowledged Morris’s 
greeting with a growl and the point blank question: 
“What do you want here?” 

Ordinarily Morris would have replied in kind, but he 
was too astute a schemer to allow his feelings to rob him 
of his prey. His answer was, therefore, in strict conson¬ 
ance with his plans, as he said with becoming deference: 

“Just a little friendly call, Gage. I thought you might 
be interested in knowing how the game was progressing.” 

“It’s of no interest to me, whatever. I’m entirely out of 
the game, as you call it. In the next game I play, it will 
be with a partner who has at least ordinary intelligence.” 

“Yes?” and Morris smiled in a tantalizing manner. “I 
thought it would be of considerable interest to you to 
know that Durham has finally queered himself with Miss 
Brent.” 

“What’s that?” 

There was no lack of interest in the query, as Gage 
looked up from the document with which he had pretended 
to busy himself. 

“So it does interest you?” laughed Morris. 

Gage shrugged his shoulders. “In a way, yes.” 

“It should interest you in every way, if you are as 
232 


MATTHEW BRENT 


233 


anxious for the girl and old Simon’s millions as I think.” 

“I can’t see how this is going to help me. You spoiled 
all my chances with your infernal blunder.” 

“Now don’t be so quick to jump at conclusions,” was 
Morris’s soothing reply. “Can’t you see that Durham’s 
failure to please the girl and her grandfather may easily 
be turned to your advantage? It will prove the wisdom 
of my advice in selecting you. In fact, I told Miss Brent 
so not half an hour ago.” 

“What?” and Gage’s face assumed a more friendly 
expression. “You told her that?” 

“I certainly did. I’m free to confess that I wasn’t 
thinking of you at all when I did it; I was only trying to 
square myself. I could see that the words impressed her, 
and I am satisfied that she will be glad to see you. I told 
her that while Judge Everett was the proper legal advisor, 
there wasn’t a man in the city who could advise her along 
financial lines as well as you. Now, all that is necessary, 
is to create the opportunity.” 

“Well,” exclaimed Gage when Morris stopped as 
though awaiting some indication of how his words were 
being received, “why don’t you go on? Have you any 
idea how such an opportunity may be created?” 

“A very good one,” was the slowly spoken reply. 

“Well, what is it? Why don’t you say what’s on your 
mind and not spend my time beating about the bush? 
There’s been altogether too many misunderstandings 
between you and me because you expected me to guess 
what was in your mind. Now speak up, if you know how.” 

Morris’s face flushed; but he made no sign that he 
resented Gage’s words, other than in the change of his 
voice as he said bluntly: 

“If you were as smart as you think you are, I wouldn’t 
always have to speak so plainly. You’d have sense enough 
to see some things. Of course I have a plan, or I 


284 


MATTHEW BRENT 


shouldn’t be here, and you know me well enough to know 
that I am not helping you because I love you. It’s 
because I need you. I—” 

“Oh, you want to use me, do you?” interrupted Gage. 

“Certainly I do—just as you want to use me. As old 
Col. Dingee used to say, it’s quid pro quo; you scratch 
my back and I’ll scratch yours. You -want the girl and 
her millions. I want just one of those millions and I want 
to revenge mj^self upon Durham. That’s the plainest 
English I am able to use. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, I understand; and it’s about what I expected.” 

“Well, do you agree?” 

“Why should I give you a million?” 

“In order to get the others—provided you can stop 
Matthew and the girl from giving them away to someone 
else. It’s my commission.” 

Gage shrugged his shoulders as he said with a sneer: 
“A matrimonial brokerage, huh? Well, that’s about your 
size. Let’s hear the plan.” 

“Then you agree?” 

“There seems to be nothing else to do.” 

Morris chuckled in a manner that said as plainly as 
words could have said it, “I thought so,” and then he 
took from his pocket the little memorandum book. 

“Neither of us have time right now to go into the de¬ 
tails of my plan,” he finally said, “but in this little book,” 
and he ruffled the leaves under his thumb, “are the details 
of most of the questionable deals in which Simon Brent 
was implicated during the twenty-five years I was with 
him. Do you understand?” 

Gage’s face took on an expression of surprise, which 
was speedily followed by one of greedy and crafty 
intelligence. For the moment he had been startled out of 
himself, and his real self cropped to the surface. Quickly, 
however, his face assumed its wonted cynical look as he 


MATTHEW BRENT 


replied nonchalantly: “I’d be a fool if I didn’t. 
Especially,” he added, “knowing you as well as I do.” 

It was a nasty cut, but he couldn’t help saying it. 
Greedy as he was and tricky, Gage hated a traitor. 

Morris winced, but his only reply was that honors 
were easy and there was no use wasting any more time. 
Two minutes later he took his leave, with the understand¬ 
ing that he would meet Gage at that gentleman’s apart¬ 
ment at nine o’clock that evening, when he would explain 
the details of the plot. 

The engagement w r as kept, with the result that a few 
mornings later Matthew received two letters, which 
demanded almost immediate attention. One reached him 
by special delivery and the other came in the regular mail 
a few hours later. The first was as follows: 

Bridgeport, Vt. March 10. 

Mr. Matthew Brent, 

Executor Estate Simon Brent, 

New York City. 

Dear Sir:—My attention has just been called to your announce¬ 
ment, published some weeks ago, that you were anxious to right 
the wrongs done by your brother. I think I can honestly say 
I am one entitled to consideration. 

When the Squantuck cotton mills were first started twenty-five 
years ago, my husband was one of the incorporators, owning, as 
I know, 25 per cent of the stock. He gave in payment therefor 
the land upon which the plant now stands. During the panic of 
’89 he was compelled to sacrifice his stock, which Simon Brent 
bought at 20 cents on the dollar. 

But that is not the worst. In order to help save the company, 
my husband leaned it $100,000, taking as security a mortgage 
on the entire plant. In the midst of the financial disturb¬ 
ance my husband died. His estate was found to be hopelessly 
insolvent. Simon Brent was the chief creditor and got practically 
all there was left. A year later I found the mortgage among 
some papers left, by chance, in an old coat pocket. It had never 
been recorded. Because of this, I have never been able to obtain 
any payment, and the claim was finally outlawed. It is still, 
however, a moral claim and I think it should be paid with the 
interest. 

I am seventy years old and an invalid, unable to come to 


236 


MATTHEW BRENT 


you, but I am writing to Mr. Gilson Gage, a friend who knows 
about the transaction, as does also your manager, Mr. Morris. I 
have thre* granddaughters to whom the money should go. We are 
all in greatly reduced circumstances, but I am not asking for 
charity. I am asking only what is my due. 

Very truly yours, 
Amanda C. Blackford. 

P.S. My husband was Winfield T. Blackford, for many years a 
prominent banker here. 

The second letter was from Gage. In it he said that he 
had just received a letter from Mrs. Blackford, in which 
she told of her intention to write the letter to Matthew, 
and asking that he, Gage, would see Matthew and explain 
the case. He therefore asked an appointment. 

Over both letters Matthew was greatly pleased. 

“It just goes to prove my position,” he declared. 
“Simon has always been taking advantage of the power of 
his money to rob others and make more for himself.” 

“I can’t believe it,” was Mary’s reply. “I don’t believe 
Uncle Simon ever robbed anyone. He was too good,” and 
her eyes filled with tears. 

So pronounced was Mary’s attitude and so apparent 
her grief over his accusation of Simon’s dishonesty, that 
Matthew was moved to say: “Well, maybe he didn’t rob 
anyone; but he certainly used the power of his money to 
pile up more millions. To me this is quite as repre¬ 
hensible. Don’t you think so, William?” 

Immediately Billy hedged. 

“I don’t think I have had enough experience in money¬ 
getting to qualify me as an expert, Mr. Brent,” was his 
breezy rejoinder. “Certainly no one can accuse me of 
being a profiteer.” 

“No, William, I am sure they can not.” Then after a 
pause: “Do you happen to know anything about this 
Blackford matter?” 

“No, sir. That must have happened about the time 


MATTHEW BRENT 


237 


I was being born. I do remember, however, that about a 
week before he died, Mr. Simon Brent wrote a short letter 
to a woman by the name of Blackford. It may have been 
the same.” 

“Do you remember what he said?” 

“Not exactly. It was not much, for your brother did 
not write long letters. I think he said he was tired of 
hearing about something which never was anything to 
start with. I can find you the copy the next time I’m 
down town.” 

“I wish you would, William; and you might have 
Prichard go through the books and see what he can find.” 
Then to Mary: “Don’t you think you had better write 
Mr. Gage to call?” 

“Why, of course, Daddy. If this poor woman has 
really been kept out of anything that belongs to her, we 
must make it right.” 

The letter was dispatched, and a couple of days later 
Gage drove out to the house, where he was received with 
studied courtesy. 

“I have felt considerable delicacy in taking up this 
matter,” he explained to Mary and Matthew, “in view of 
the false position in which I was placed by Morris’s 
blunder. As Miss Brent knows, I consented to the use 
of my name solely on her request. How Morris ever—” 

“No apologies are necessary,” declared Matthew, 
breaking in upon Gage’s explanation. “The less said 
about disagreeable subjects, the better. This matter of 
Mrs. Blackford’s, however, proves my position. If her 
claim is a just one, I want to see that she gets every cent 
that is justly due her.” 

“There can be no doubt about the justice of the claim, 
Mr. Brent. The only question is the amount.” 

“What does she figure it?” 

“The mortgage was for $100,000. There is twenty 


238 


MATTHEW BRENT 


years’ interest, which, at six per cent, would be another 
$120,000. Mrs. Blackford thinks she should have some¬ 
thing on the original investment, but I do not think she 
could justly ask that.” 

“I think she could!” was Matthew’s emphatic reply. 

“Daddy,” interrupted Mary, “don’t you think Mr. 
Gage ought to be the better iudge. He is representing 
Mrs. Blackford.” 

“Not at all! Not at all! I’ve had Prichard look up 
the history of the Squantuck Mills. The company was 
originally capitalized for $ 200 , 000 . Mr. Blackford put in 
his property for $ 50 , 000 . Today, they tell me, the 
plant is worth $ 2 , 000 , 000 . Besides this, it has easily 
made in the last fifteen, or eighteen years more than ten 
millions of dollars. Why, this woman ought to have at 
least one fourth of that, besides the mortgage and 
interest.” 

“Oh, no, no, Mr. Brent!” gasped Gage. “That would 
be preposterous!” 

“Not at all!” 

“And of course there might be some mistake about the 
whole matter,” Gage continued, not at all pleased at the 
eagerness with which Matthew wished to dispose of money 
he had hopes of controlling. “You know your brother 
always refused to acknowledge the claim.” 

“Publicly, yes; but look at this,” and Matthew held out 
a carbon copy of the letter to Mrs. Blackford to which 
Billy had referred. 

Gage took the letter from Matthew’s hand and read 
what Simon had dictated. It was brief and to the point. 

“Dear Madam:—I am tired of being bothered about a 
claim, which never was a claim. I refuse to discuss the 
matter,” was what Gage read. 

He glanced up at Matthew and was about to speak, 


MATTHEW BRENT 


239 


but Matthew indicated a line at the bottom, beneath the 
space left for the signature—a line in Simon’s own hand, 
and evidently added to make it a complete copy. 

“Read that, too,” he said. 

This is what he read: “Enclosed, find my check for 
$15,000. Divide it among you. It is all you will ever 
get.” 

Gage’s face indicated the surprise he felt. 

“Well, what do you think of that?” asked Matthew, 
while Mary eagerly awaited his answer. 

“It does look as though he recognized the justice of the 
claim, doesn’t it?” said Gage after a moment’s silence. 

“It surely does; and I have no doubt there are many 
more persons whom he defrauded in a like manner. Poor 
Simon! Poor Simon!” and Matthew shook his head sadly. 
“Yes, and poor Mary. It is such a blow to her. She 
can’t believe it.” 

“No,” exclaimed the girl, “I can’t, nor I won’t, until I 
have better proof than this.” 

“Have you asked Morris about it?” enquired Gage. 
“Mrs. Blackford wrote me he knew all about it.” 

“I have very little confidence in Morris,” was Matthew’s 
reply. “I have asked Prichard to investigate.” 

Gage shook his head, as he replied with a deprecatory 
smile: “I think I should have less confidence in Prichard. 
He’s so old he is almost senile, and he never could see any 
wrong in anything Simon Brent did. Morris may not 
think as you do, Mr. Brent, but he is an astute business 
man. I should certainly have him investigate this 
matter.” 

Matthew shook his head. 

“Why not, Daddy?” asked Mary. “You want to get at 
the truth of this matter, don’t you?” 

“Yes; but somehow I feel I should trust Prichard. 
I’ll have to think it over.” 


240 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“And you had also better take my advice about the 
amount of the claim, Mr. Brent,” Gage insisted. “It is 
right to be just to Mrs. Blackford, but you must like¬ 
wise be just to your granddaughter.” 

“Yes, I can see that. Arthur made that plain to me.” 

“Arthur?” and Gage spoke the name with surprise. 
“You mean Durham?” 

“Yes.” 

“I thought you had decided not to follow his advice 
any longer.” 

“We have!” declared Mary, without giving her grand¬ 
father time to speak. “We have put him out of our 
thoughts entirely.” 

“Yes,” Matthew affirmed, “we have put him out of 
mind. Mary has no confidence in him. He gave me that 
advice back in Tonga,” and Matthew’s eyes took on a 
faraway look as he spoke the name. “Tonga!” he re¬ 
peated. “How long ago that seems. I sometimes wonder 
if there is such a place.” 

Again he stopped and closed his eyes, while Mary 
looked over at Gage and slowly shook her head. 

Aloud she said: “Daddy hasn’t been strong for a few 
days, Mr. Gage. I think we had better let this matter rest 
for a little while until it can be fully investigated. When 
it is, I will let you know. In the meantime we shall be 
pleased to have you call at any time. I am sure Daddy 
will be glad of your advice in his arduous task.” 

“I shall be only too glad to assist you at any and all 
times, Miss Brent; either you or your grandfather. I am 
indebted to you for many favors, and nothing would give 
me greater pleasure.” 

There was so much of truthfulness in his words that 
Mary could not fail to be impressed. Their earnestness 
even aroused Matthew from his reverie and caused him to 
echo Mary’s thanks and to second her invitation to call. 


MATTHEW BRENT 


241 


Not for a single instant did it enter the minds of 
either of these two simple souls that they were being made 
the victims of a deeply laid plot of greed and ambition! 

As for Gage, he left the house some minutes later with 
a feeling of great elation, and firmly convincd that it was 
only a matter of time when the mantle of Simon Brent 
would rest upon his shoulders. Neither did he fail to 
grasp the opportunity and avail himself of Mary’s invi¬ 
tation. Having discovered how easily Matthew seized 
upon any suggestion for scattering the wealth left by 
Simon, Gage then and there determined that he would 
turn this knowledge to his own selfish benefit; and so he 
managed to find excuses for almost daily calls. 

The first time he called, it was to take Matthew for a 
drive. 

“You told me your grandfather was not feeling 
strong,” he explained to Mary. “A drive will do him 
good.” 

Mary speedily agreed and Matthew was induced to take 
his first airing in a couple of weeks. The following 
evening he called to enquire after his health and to com¬ 
pliment Matthew upon his wisdom in making his office in 
his home. 

“It must have been an inspiration,” he declared. 

“It was,” Mary affirmed. “Judge Everett says it is 
the very best thing he could have done.” 

“Indeed? And does Judge Everett come out for con¬ 
sultation?” 

“He has been out once; but either Billy or I act as the 
go-between,” laughed Mary. Then, as Matthew’s atten¬ 
tion was diverted by Tippo-Tib; “I am really the man¬ 
ager, Mr. Gage—that is as much as I legally can be.” 

“I understand, Miss Brent; and I must compliment 
both you and your grandfather. I have been quite sur¬ 
prised at the sound judgment and good business methods 


242 


MATTHEW BRENT 


I have noted in the conduct of such of your affairs as are 
public property.” 

“I do not feel that I can take any credit for that,” was 
Mary’s blushing reply. “Up to the present I have done 
little, but with such a good counselor as Judge Everett 
and such a friend as you, I hope to do more in relieving 
Daddy of his burden.” 

“I am flattered at being so classed, Miss Brent. Do 
not hesitate to call upon me for anything.” Then as an 
after thought: “Bias Prichard reported on the Blackford 
matter?” 

“Not fully,” replied Matthew, who had turned just in 
time to hear the question. “He is under the impression 
that a compromise was once suggested by Mrs. Black¬ 
ford’s lawyer; but he can not find the letter.” 

“Oh, well,” said Gage as he arose to depart, “I am sure 
the matter will come out right. There is no hurry; so do 
not worry.” 

The word compromise had given Gage an idea. In 
conversation with Morris that evening, he began to de¬ 
velop it. Why waste a whole million? 

“Did you know that Mrs. Blackford had once offered to 
compromise this matter?” he asked, expecting to surprise 
his confederate. 

“What a question,” was the calm reply. “Of course I 
do.” 

“It may spoil our plans.” 

“How can it? I have the letter.” 

Gage thought fast. 

“Why,” he explained, “Prichard has recalled the offer 
and it, of course, suggests that the claim is not so just as 
I have assured Miss Brent that it was. I have just dis¬ 
covered that she is really directing affairs, and she isn’t at 
all keen about paying out a couple of hundred thousand, 
let alone a million. When Judge Everett comes to look 


MATTHEW BRENT 


243 


into the matter, conditions may be worse. I think the time 
is ripe to bring the thing to a head.” 

“Isn’t that what we are trying to do?” 

“Why, of course.” 

Morris observed Gage closely for several moments. 

“Look here, Gage,” he finally said, “you haven’t been 
very explicit about this whole matter. Don’t forget that 
I can hurt you just as much as I can help you. Now give 
me the bottom facts.” 

“Why,” explained Gage in an off-hand manner, in 
order to make half-truths appear like whole, “it is just as 
I told you. Brother Matthew is for paying the whole 
hundred thousand with interest, and possibly something 
more. The girl isn’t. I told you about the fifteen 
thousand, didn’t I?” 

Morris nodded his head. 

“Of course that had its weight; but this offer of a 
compromise is bad. If I were you I would go at once to 
the widow Blackford and show her the letter. The lawyer 
is now dead, so she can get no more information on that 
score. Tell her it has just come to light and may spoil the 
whole plan. Tell her you will give her twenty-five thousand 
dollars for her claim and take all the chances. I’m sure 
we shall finally settle on more than $220,000, and that will 
leave you a clear $200,000.” 

Morris smiled cynically. 

“How nice!” was his sneering comment. Then after a 
pause: “Either you are losing your cunning or you are 
playing double.” 

“What do you mean?” and Gage bristled up like a game 
cock. 

“Just what I say. If you have put this matter to 
Matthew Brent as I am sure you are able, he has made no 
objection to paying even five times the claim. I know him, 
and I warn you I am not to be trifled with.” 


244 


MATTHEW BRENT 


Morris’s guess was so nearly what had really been the 
facts, that Gage’s only escape lay in assuming great 
indignation. 

“Your insinuations are contemptible!” he exclaimed, 
“and did I not understand how much you have counted on 
feathering your nest out of this game, I would not stand 
for any such accusations. I’ve done the best I could 
without queering myself with the girl—a thing I am not 
going to do just to pull your chestnuts out of the fire! 
I consider $200,000 a good price for the little you have 
done for me.” 

Morris attempted to speak, but Gage stopped him with 
a gesture. 

“However, to show you I am willing to help you make 
a killing, when it will not injure my chances with Mary, 
I’ll let you in on a little deal I propose to put through 
myself.” 

“You may remember that a year or so ago some man 
claimed to be the inventor of the chilling process used by 
the Mahoning Steel Company and that he had been 
swindled out of his patent by Simon Brent.” 

“Very well; but it wasn’t true.” 

“Just the same I am going to tell the story to Brother 
Matthew and suggest that the claim be given a proper in¬ 
vestigation. I will suggest further that during the investi¬ 
gation the mills close. If Matthew doesn’t want the 
workmen to suffer, he can give them four months vacation 
with pay. 

“The Brent estate owns fifty-four percent, of the 
Mahoning stock, which is today worth double its par 
value. Twenty hours after the order to shut down is 
issued, I shall be able to buy up most of the stock at my 
own price. Later, I’ll get Brother Matthew to sell me 
his stock and then we will start up again. You can make 
the rest of your million out of this.” 


MATTHEW BRENT 


24)5 


Morris pulled at his closely-cropped moustache, but 
made no reply. 

“Well, what do you think of it?” asked Gage. 

“I’m afraid it won’t work.” 

Gage laughed aloud. “Won’t work? Just you wait 
and see. In the meantime, get the release of that claim 
from the Widow Blackford. I’ll see that you clean up the 
$200,000, and maybe a little more.” 


CHAPTER XXIV 


T HERE is an old saying that the devil protects his 
own. While this is doubtless untrue, it certainly 
seemed otherwise in the schemes of Morris and Gage. 

Further investigation by Prichard of the claim of Mrs. 
Blackford, produced no evidence sufficient to change 
Matthew’s determination to give her, not only all she 
asked, but all that he believed she might justly claim. 

Judge Everett and Mary tried to dissuade him and Gage 
even went so far as to declare he would not, as Mrs. 
Blackford’s representative, accept so large an amount. He 
finally, however, compromised on a million dollars, agree¬ 
ing to accept the amount in the stock of the Squantuck 
Cotton Mills Company. 

Matthew thereupon issued an order upon the Metro¬ 
politan Trust Company to deliver to Gage that amount 
of Squantuck stock, upon the delivery of a proper quit¬ 
claim from Mrs. Blackford—a document which Morris 
had already secured for $25,000. 

In the matter of the Mahoning Steel Corporation, 
Gage’s suggestion also produced satisfactory results. 

Here was a claim which had been under controversy for 
a long time. It involved the process used by the company 
in chilling its product. The inventor claimed one thing, 
Simon had claimed another. Immediately it was men¬ 
tioned to Matthew, he made up his mind that Simon must 
have been in the wrong. 

“I was something of an inventor myself, in my younger 
246 


MATTHEW BRENT 


247 


days,” he declared in talking the matter over, “and I 
know how the capitalists have always been able to take 
advantage of the inventor’s poverty. I am convinced 
that this is another case of injustice and I am going to 
see it righted. It must be one of the things Simon had 
in mind.” 

Whereupon he announced his decision and ordered that 
the plant close down the following week, and Gage saw 
that the order was made public. 

The result of the announcement was all that Gage 
expected. Immediately the stock began to drop in price. 
The directors tried to see Matthew in order to dissuade 
him from his purpose; but he refused to see them, referr¬ 
ing them to Prichard. 

When Billy put in his appearance at the Brent resi¬ 
dence the following morning, he bore a message to Mary 
from the old clerk that he would like to see her at the 
office. It was the first time she had been called into con¬ 
sultation, and she promptly responded to the summons. 

She found Prichard and Judge Everett closeted in 
Prichard’s private office. 

“Here is an opportunity to assist in preventing an 
injustice which your grandfather would commit in the 
name of justice,” explained Judge Everett. 

Mary admitted that she did not understand. 

“Why,” continued the attorney, “the Simon Brent 
estate owns only 54 per cent of the stock. While your 
grandfather may think it right to destroy the value of 
your personal stock, he has no right to arbitrarily des¬ 
troy the value of the 46 per cent owned by other men.” 

Mary was quick to grasp the truth of the statement. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” she said, and hastened home. 

She found Matthew and Billy arguing over the same 
matter. 

“How would you like it, Mr. Brent,” Billy was saying as 


248 


MATTHEW BRENT 


Mary entered, “if someone should tear down your house 
on that island in the South Sea just because he owned a 
part of it? Wouldn’t you think you ought to have some 
voice in the matter?” 

“Why, certainly.” 

“Well, that’s just the way with the Mahoning Steel 
Company. Other folks own part of the stock. If you 
shut down and squander a lot of money paying men who 
are on a vacation, you destroy the value of the other 
stock. Don’t you see?” 

Matthew stroked his chin, on which the white beard 
was again beginning to grow. 

“Yes, William,” he replied slowly, “I can see there is 
some justice in what you say; but these stockholders are 
all rich and piling up more money. That’s what I object 
to. Now I was much pleased with Mr. Gage—” 

“Gage!” snorted Billy. 

Matthew regarded him in surprise. 

“Why, what do you mean, William. Mr. Gage has 
been giving me good advice and in his way has tried to—” 

“Rats!” and Billy again exploded. “He’s got you 
buffaloed, that’s all. I wouldn’t be surprised if this 
shutting down of the Mahoning plant was just a scheme 
of Gage’s. I don’t trust him for anything!” 

Mary had stopped in the doorway to hear what 
Matthew might say. Now she came forward, consider¬ 
ably moved by the young man’s words. Some way or 
other they reminded her of Durham, and down in her 
heart was a sob which had been repeating itself over and 
over for days. 

“Oh, Arthur,” was the burden of her cry, “how could 
you deceive me ?” 

Now her sense of loneliness manifested itself in a yearn¬ 
ing to know just what Durham would have counseled in 
the present condition. 


MATTHEW BRENT 


249 


“Why have you no confidence in Mr. Gage?” she asked 
of Billy. 

“Because he’s too thick with Morris. You know 
Morris is a crook.” 

“William!” remonstrated Matthew, severely. “You 
must not apply such terms to anyone.” 

“You might just as well call things by their names,” 
was Billy’s retort. “You know he lied about Mr. Dur¬ 
ham. That’s enough to queer him with me—even if I 
didn’t know anything more!” 

“Lied about Durham?” queried Matthew. “When?” 

“When he said Mr. Durham was two-sided. It isn’t 
so. I’d stake my life on Mr. Durham.” 

Mary’s heart gave a throb of joy she could not re¬ 
press, and Matthew asked with much interest: 

“I wonder what’s become of Arthur, William? Why 
doesn’t he come up and see me. If he doesn’t want to, he 
needn’t see—” 

“Daddy!” interrupted Mary suddenly, “let’s not talk 
about Mr. Durham. If he has been maligned, it is his 
place to come and explain it to us; not for us to invite 
him. But about this closing down of the Mahoning plant, 
I think Billy is right.” 

“What does Judge Everett think, Mary?” 

“He is much opposed to closing.” 

“You may all be right,” was the somewhat hesitating 
reply, “but I am not certain. I’m sure the inventor—” 

“If you are so sorry for the inventor,” exclaimed Billy, 
breaking in upon Matthew as though the thought had 
just entered his mind, “why don’t you hunt him up and 
give him a chunk of your stock? You could give him 
plenty and still retain the controlling interest.” 

Again Matthew rubbed his chin. 

“William,” he said slowly, “you are certainly a bright 
young man. Now why didn’t I think of that before?” 


250 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“Why? Because Gage put something else into your 
head. That’s why!” 

For a space there was silence, while Matthew and Mary 
both thought deeply. Billy’s answer was too plain to 
need explanation. It was Matthew who finally spoke. 

“Mary,” he said with considerable spirit, “I guess 
William is right and I had better countermand that order. 
I seem to be most too impetuous at times and considerably 
open to evil suggestions, don’t I?” 

“I’m afraid we both do, Daddy. There are some things 
about which we appear to know very little; but I am sure 
you are doing the right thing now.” 

The decisions was put into effect, and when Billy re¬ 
turned to the office, he had the satisfaction of carrying 
with him the order countermanding the shut down. 

“We threw a monkey wrench into the gearing that 
time,” was his gleeful remark as he handed Prichard the 
order. “It looks to me as though the Morris-Gage 
machine was likely to have a bad case of back-firing.” 

Matters were rapidly reaching a climax and the devil 
was in a fair way of losing his ability to protect his own. 

Out of the whole chaotic condition, the only two who 
were free from all worry were Billy and Ila-Ila. Because 
of the new arrangement, these two young people were 
thrown much into each other’s society, and they speedily 
conceived for each other the most ardent admiration. To 
Billy, the Tonganese girl made a powerful appeal to the 
Gothamite craving for daintiness and novelty; while to 
Ila-Ila, the snappy young American was a being entirely 
separate from the rest of the world. “Mister Billy” she 
always called him, and when in his presence she was prac¬ 
tically oblivious of everything else. 

So smoothly had run Mary’s life from her first arrival 
in New York that she had hardly stopped to think it 
might have two sides. Now that deceit had seized her in 


MATTHEW BRENT 


251 


its grasp and held her like a vise, she was totally unable 
to recognize it for what it was. It looked to her like very 
truth and her awakening was thus delayed. 

In spite of what Billy had said and in spite of her recog¬ 
nition of the power of evil suggestion, she still doubted 
Durham. 

“Why couldn’t he have told me himself?” she cried in 
her grief. “When I gave him the opportunity, why 
couldn’t he have told me about his other side. I might 
have forgiven him then. Now I never can.” 

She buried her face in her hands and, leaning upon the 
window sill, sobbed bitterly. 

It was thus that Ila-Ila found her. 

“Missy!” she cried kneeling at Mary’s feet and look¬ 
ing up into her half-concealed face, “what is it? Who 
has made Missy cry?” 

“No one,” was the sobbing reply. “I am just begin¬ 
ning to learn that life is not all sunshine.” 

“Except in Tonga,” was the soft reply, and the little 
maid also heaved a sigh. 

“No, not even in Tonga, Ila-Ila. Don’t you remember 
when we were little girls, how we used to watch the 
shadows cast by the clouds as they swept across the 
fields?” 

“Yes; but don’t Missy remember that they always 
passed away?” 

“True! True, Ra-Ha, they always passed away,” 
Mary repeated slowly. “Listen!” and she sprang from 
her seat and opened her writing desk. “Here is my very 
first attempt at writing verse. It seems as though I must 
have known what was going to happen,” and she read 
from a slip of yellow paper: 

Down in the meadow where daisies grow, 

Dotting the green with flakes like snow. 

We watch the shadows come and go 


252 


MATTHEW BRENT 


As clouds pass o’er the sun. 

Like birds, to us, they seem to fly 

On fleecy pinions o’er the sky, 

Till in the azure they fade and die,— 

The shadows’ race is run. 

Oh, the shadows come and the shadows go 
As the clouds pass o’er the sky; 

So we must know that grief and woe 
Will swiftly pass us by. 

For it’s love that drives all our fears away— 

All the fears that cloud life’s sky; 

And the shadows will pass. 

Love will conquer at last, 

’Twill be sunshine by and by. 

Ha-Ha’s eyes opened wider and wider until the last word 
was read, 

“Oh, Missy!” she cried. “Is it not beautiful? It will 
be sunshine by and by, so Missy need not cry.” 

Mary smiled in spite of her grief. 

“No,” she said, “I need not cry, and I will not cry. I 
will be brave for Daddy’s sake,” but in spite of her brave 
words, she was still miserable and torn with conflicting 
emotions. 


CHAPTER XXV 


D URING all these happenings, what of Durham? 

When he left the Brent offices on the day he had 
saved Matthew from the dire effects of his own folly, he 
realized perfectly that his action in tearing up the notice 
of his appointment as co-executor was simply a bit of 
melodrama. 

It by no means affected the order of the court. 

He had been legally appointed to act jointly with 
Matthew, or, if he saw fit, to oppose any action Matthew 
might take. Nothing but further legal action on the part 
of the court could annul the appointment. Of course he 
could refuse to serve or to do anything further in assist¬ 
ing to save the estate and prevent a panic; but this he 
had no intention of doing. As he had told Mary a short 
time before, he would save her in spite of herself. 

It never occurred to him to doubt that, when she had 
time to think over the events of the day, Mary would de¬ 
tect the lie that Morris had uttered and be glad that he, 
and not Gage, had been appointed to assist her grand¬ 
father. He had not reckoned with that stubbornness, 
which his mother had already detected and which Mary 
seemed to have inherited. 

With these thoughts in mind, he went immediately from 
the Brent offices to those of Judge Everett, where the whole 
situation was reviewed and a plan of action mapped out, 
until such a time as they might be able to confer with 
Matthew. 


254 


MATTHEW BRENT 


When two days had passed and it was evident that 
Matthew was not physically, or mentally able to see them, 
Prichard was called to meet with them. 

In as few words as possible the situation was explained 
to the old clerk and then, too, for the first time did Dur¬ 
ham relate the part Morris had played in the death of 
Simon Brent. 

‘‘In view of this,” he explained, “and also in accord 
with Mr. Matthew Brent’s words the other day, I feel that 
Morris should be dismissed from the employ of the estate; 
but for a time his knowledge of the business may be needed. 
I would, therefore, recommend that he be told that it is 
Matthew’s orders that Prichard should be placed in 
charge of the business. I think it will be much better 
that he does not know anything about what I am doing, at 
least until I have had my status definitely settled by Miss 
Brent and her grandfather.” 

“I thought that had been settled,” was Judge Everett’s 
surprised statement. 

“So did I,” was Durham’s quizzical reply, “but from 
the little I can gain from Miss Brent’s words, Morris has 
been poisoning her mind against me and she has not been 
able to detect the deceit.” 

“Why not go and explain?” 

“I shall when the time comes. For the present, how¬ 
ever, I shall be too busy in saving her estate, to have time 
for anything else; and besides,” Durham added, “actions 
speak plainer than words. Some day she will know that 
my whole desire is to protect her. Then I shall explain.” 

“In the meantime,” said Pritchard, “I shall conduct 
the business just as though nothing had happened.” 

“Yes,” from Durham, “and we’ll let the general public 
think that Matthew Brent is going back to Tonga as soon 
as certain legal formalities can be perfected.” 

“Which reminds me,” interposed Judge Everett, “that 


MATTHEW BRENT 


255 


we shall be unable to do certain things without Matthew’s 
signature. How are we to get that? Every contract, 
order, or check out of the usual run of business will 
require both your signatures.” 

“We shall just have to know,” Durham declared, “that 
if it is right for us to have it, a way will be provided.” 

It was at this stage of events that Mary had telephoned 
the office for Billy. 

It was the first request that had come either from Mary 
or Matthew, although Prichard had telephoned the house 
daily for news of Matthew’s condition. Immediately 
upon receipt of it, Prichard hastened to Judge Everett’s 
office, which had been selected as headquarters for this 
most unusual triumvirate. 

The news was received with rejoicing. 

Guessing at once the object of the request, Billy was 
called before the three and thoroughly coached as to the 
information he should give. With his loyalty to Durham 
and his naturally quick intuition, the work was easy; 
and the whole plan was made just that much easier when 
Mary later called upon Judge Everett and expressed a 
desire to have a hand in managing the estate. 

“I felt like a real conspirator,” said the judge to 
Durham, in telling of Mary’s call. “Yes, and I came 
pretty near spoiling everything. I feel confident now 
that there will be no more trouble. But just suppose she 
had known that you were right next door?” 

Durham laughed, the first really hearty laugh for 
weeks. 

“Didn’t I tell you,” he said joyfully, “that if we were 
on the right track, a -way to work out the problem would 
be provided? I’ve just begun to learn, Judge, that there 
is a Power that works for good to all those who are try¬ 
ing to do the right thing.” 

Judge Everett smiled at his enthusiasm. 


256 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“I discovered that a good many years ago,” was his 
reply. “It is in strict accord with the Scriptures that 
‘all things work together for good them that love God.* 
I’ve been using the Bible in my business for many years.” 

“I’m just beginning to, and I find it a mighty good 
plan,” said Durham soberly. “I think I’ll keep it up, for 
if I ever needed more wisdom than is in my own head, it is 
right now.” 

The plan having been duly perfected, Billy at once 
assumed his duties. 

On the ground floor of the Brent mansion was a large 
conservatory, one of the windows of which afforded a 
fine view of the river. On the opposite side, a door opened 
into a small paved court, which led directly to the street. 
This conservatory Matthew had pre-empted to his own 
use. 

“It comes the nearest to Tonga of anything I can find 
in New York,” he declared, “and here is where I propose 
to live and transact business as long as I remain—w r hich 
I hope won’t be long. I am going to rid myself of this 
burden just as fast as I can and return to a place where 
I can be of some service.” 

During these days the newspaper reporters became so 
persistent in their efforts to interview him, that Matthew 
finally lost patience and refused to see them at all. 

“If this is modern journalism,” he said, “I’m sorry I 
ever had anything to do with it,” and he forthwith sent 
word to Duvall that he should make arrangements to 
cease the publication of the Planet and dispose of the 
plant—an unwise order, which at Durham’s express 
command, Prichard never delivered. 

In the settlement of the Brent estate, Durham planned 
with the purpose of doing justly by all. He realized that 
there were some who should be provided for, and in their 
behalf he labored earnestly; but in view of Matthew’s 


MATTHEW BRENT 


257 


most extraordinary notice to the public, he was obliged 
to act with the utmost severity toward those who would 
rob the estate. 

While Durham was breezy and strictly up-to-date, 
there was a depth to his nature which enabled him to 
grasp Matthew’s point of view. He could appreciate the 
feelings of a man, who for years had lived up to a 
certain theory, and he never made light of them. To 
the best of his ability he planned in a manner which would 
harmonize with Matthew’s views. 

To this end he outlined a policy of co-operation with 
the working men, whose labor had contributed so largely 
to the value of the industrial enterprises which made up 
a large portion of the Brent estate. 

He evolved with Judge Everett’s assistance, a plan 
for an equitable distribution of dividends among those 
who had for a number of years contributed their labor, 
energy and intelligence in developing the great transpor¬ 
tation companies. 

He planned boards of control for other great interests, 
so that those who were actually doing the work should 
have a voice in the manner in which these enterprises 
should be conducted. 

While this system of administering the estate had the 
effect of dividing the income, it in no manner decreased 
the value of the estate—either to Mary, or to others 
whose money was invested in these enterprises. It was 
strictly in line with present day methods. 

It was Billy’s task to secure Matthew’s approval of 
these plans—a work which he undertook with zeal, 
especially when he understood that Mary was in accord 
with the ideas, although not recognizing their source. 

To illustrate, one particular case is sufficient. 

Durham decided that a most meritorious way of divi¬ 
sion, was to create a trust and pension fund for the 


258 


MATTHEW BRENT 


benefit of employes of the Simon Brent properties who 
had been ten years or more in service. He explained the 
plan to Billy, who in turn, suggested it to Matthew in 
his own inimitable way. 

“Say, Mr. Brent,” he remarked the morning after he 
had been coached by Durham, “if you want to give away 
a bunch of this money, why don’t you pension off a lot 
of these old chaps like Prichard and Morris?” 

“Morris ? I don’t consider Morris in my employ,” was 
Matthew’s stern reply. “He is only there by sufferance.” 

“I know that, Mr. Brent; and I have no more use for 
him than you have. Still he helped your brother make 
some of his money. Prichard has done even more.” 

“I offered a share to Prichard and he said he wouldn’t 
have it.” 

“That’s just Prichard’s way,” was Billy’s stock reply. 
“I told you before, that you had to get acquainted with 
Prichard. I’ll bet if you’d start some sort of a fund 
for all the old employes, Prichard would take his along 
with the rest.” 

“I’m pleased to hear you say that, William. Do you 
really think it can be done?” 

“Why not invite Prichard up here and ask him?” 

“Do you think he’d come?” 

“Why sure. Prichard is a fine old man when you get 
acquainted with him, even if he does take all those 
patent medicines.” 

“Patent medicines?” in surprise. “What’s that got 
to do with it? I know—that is I used to know some 
mighty good men, who took patent medicines. I’m not 
sure but Horace Greeley took Hostetters’ bitters. Great 
man, Horace Greeley. I’m sorry you don’t know him, 
William.” 

“On account of the bitters, Mr. Brent?” 

“Oh, no, he was a wonderful man,” and Matthew closed 


MATTHEW BRENT 


259 


his eyes and heaved a sigh. “Those were great days, 
William. We shall never see their like again.” 

“I don’t know,” was Billy’s bewildered answer, “but if 
you say so, it must be so. Anyway, I know Prichard 
always has a bottle of some kind of dope on his desk; 
but I don’t suppose you mind.” 

“Not at all! Not at all—unless he should want me to 
try it,” and Matthew opened his eyes with a little chuckle. 
“Do you know, William, I haven’t taken a dose of 
medicine—except when some whaler touched at Tonga 
and I was invited aboard—for thirty years. Well! Well! 
How—” 

“How about asking Prichard up?” Billy interrupted. 

“By all means! By all means-—if you think he’ll come.” 

In accordance with the plans of the triumvirate, 
Prichard answered Matthew’s call and discussed the 
matter as though it were entirely new to him. 

“It’s a right good idea, Matthew,” he finally admitted, 
“if it can be done legally. I’ll talk it over with Judge 
Everett.” 

The result was the Brent Endowment. The only 
feature of the plan upon which Matthew was immovable 
was its size; hence its most liberal pensions to those who 
come under its provisions. 

There were numerous similar instances, all managed in 
somewhat the same way, so that Matthew appeared to 
himself to be the moving spirit in the direction of affairs; 
but with each one, his sense of responsibility increased. 

It was about three weeks after this system was inaug¬ 
urated, that the Blackford letter was received. 

Billy had immediately reported the circumstances to 
Durham. 

“And if you’ll believe me,” he said with an air of the 
deepest conviction, “Morris is back of the whole thing.” 

Billy suggestion was given additional weight by the 


260 


MATTHEW BRENT 


discovery that all the correspondence which Prichard well 
remembered had taken place anent the claim and the offer 
of a compromise by Mrs. Blackford’s lawyer—now dead— 
had been removed from the files. 

Morris had laid his plans well, and had it not been 
for the watchfulness of the triumvirate, he would have 
had plain sailing so long as Gage did not play him false. 

It did not take Durham five minutes to reach a con¬ 
clusion after Prichard made his report. 

“Morris has evidently decided that his days with the 
Simon Brent estate are numbered and he is preparing 
to get something out of it before it is too late,” was his 
comment upon the news. “We must immediately take 
steps to thwart his plans. I feel that this will afford 
us an opportunity to so uncover his dishonest purpose, 
that Mary will have to see it.” 

“But where does Gage come in on this?” enquired 
Judge Everett. 

Durham was about to make an evasive reply, when 
Billy blurted out: “Where does Gage come in? Why, 
he expects to marry Miss Brent. Xla-Ila told me so.” 

“How does Ila-Ila know?” asked Durham with con¬ 
siderable apprehension, not knowing how far matters 
might have gone. 

“She just knows,” was Billy’s decisive answer, “and 
Ila-Ila is nobody’s fool. She says; ‘Mr. Gage looks at 
Missy as though he would eat her” and he imitated the 
little maid’s voice and manner in a -way that caused Dur¬ 
ham to laugh in spite of his apprehension. 

“The detestable cur!” was Judge Everett’s vigorous 
comment—a comment, which Durham silently endorsed. 

“But why should he want to give away a million?” 
queried Prichard. “If he hopes to marry Simon’s heir, 
why should he be so anxious to turn over this money to 
the Widow Blackford?” 


MATTHEW BRENT 


261 


“The Widow Blackford,” sneered Billy. “You don’t 
think the Widow Blackford is ever to see any of this 
money, do you?” 

“How else can anyone get it?” 

“I don’t know; but there are more tricks inside of 
Morris’s hide than there are bees in a hive. If you think 
the widow is likely to get any of this money, go and ask 
her a few questions.” 

Billy’s advice seemed good, and Durham decided to act 
upon it. The boy’s estimate of Gage and Morris was 
also given more credence, when a couple of days later he 
brought down the order to shut down the Mahoning Steel 
Plant. 

“Don’t issue the order, nor tell anyone about it,” was 
Durham’s instruction to Prichard. “We’ll get Mr. Brent 
to countermand it in a few days.” 

In spite of the instructions, the announcement that 
such an order has been issued found its way into most 
of the daily papers the following morning. 

“How did you ever let the information leak out?” 
Durham asked Prichard. 

“It didn’t come from me, sir.” 

Durham brought his fist down upon the desk with a 
whack. 

“I see it all!” he exclaimed. “It’s an attempt to lower 
the value of the stock! The report came from either 
Gage or Morris—probably from the latter—as it would 
have to seem to come from this office in order to be given 
credence; but we’ll fix them!” 

Durham’s jaws came together with a snap, while his 
face—-which had grown considerably older during the 
past month—assumed an expression of grim determi¬ 
nation. 

“Send Billy to me as soon as he comes in,” was his 
terse command. “This thing has gone far enough. We’ll 
bring matters to a head.” 


262 


MATTHEW BRENT 


When Billy made his appearance the matter was 
explained to him in detail and in the manner in which it 
seemed most likely to impress Matthew with its gravity. 
The result was that Matthew did see the injustice being 
done and the order to close down was countermanded— 
action which was given the widest publicity. 

“If that doesn’t bring on a crisis tomorrow,” was 
Durham’s mental comment as he left the office that even¬ 
ing, “why the refusal of the trust company to hand over 
a million dollars to Mrs. Blackford will.” 

That which did bring matters to a climax was some¬ 
thing on which Durham had never figured. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


M ATTHEW was late in rising the following morn¬ 
ing. Tippo-Tib had long since finished arranging 
his office and stood looking out upon the small bit of yard 
at the side of the house. His manner was dejected, and 
he appeared depressed by his surroundings. 

“What a poor place is New York!” he muttered to 
himself. “No birds—no groves—no green fields—no 
blue sea washing the shore—hardly the sky above in which 
dwells the Great Spirit! How poor all the people are!” 
A light step caused him to turn. It was Ila-Ila. 

“When think you,” he asked, “will the father return 
to Tonga?” 

Ila-Ila shook her head sadly. 

“No one knows. He is bound here hand and foot.” 
Tippo-Tib bent upon her a questioning look. 
“Bound?” he repeated. “What do you mean by that? 
Is he not free to do as he pleases?” and the face of the 
islander grew black at the very suggestion that it might 
be otherwise. 

Ila-Ila again shook her fead. 

“No, Tippo-Tib, he is not free. He is bound by the 
wishes of a dead man.” 

The expression on Tippo-Tib’s face changed to one 
of understanding. “It is so, indeed!” was the forced 
admission. “Can no one loose him?” 

“Who can say?” and Ila-Ila heaved a deep sigh as she 
turned to the window. 


263 


264 


MATTHEW BRENT 


Tippo-Tib regarded her earnestly for a moment. 

“Tippo-Tib sighs for the far-away home,” he said. 
“Why does Ha-Ha sigh?” 9 

The girl shook her head with a dainty shrug of her 
shoulders. 

“Ila-Ila doesn’t know,” was her smiling response. Then 
as she took a book from the table: “Mr. Billy hasn’t 
come yet.” 

Tippo-Tib laughed—that is as much as Tippo-Tib 
ever laughed. 

“Mr. Billy! Ho, ho! So that is why Ila-Ila sighs,” and 
the islander’s shoulders shook with merriment. “But 
hush,” he exclaimed as the door slowly opened, “here 
comes the father.” 

Hastily the faithful servant arranged a great chair, 
into which Matthew sank wearily. Clad in white and 
with his face again covered with a white beard, Matthew 
looked much as he did in Tonga, but instead of the vigor 
that had marked his actions there, his movements were 
now feeble and uncertain. 

“The father is tired,” said Tippo-Tib solicitously. He 
works too hard. He should rest.” 

“No! No! It isn’t that, Tippo-Tib. It is not the work. 
My mind is heavy. The burden is too great.” 

Tippo-Tib knelt beside his master’s chair and looked 
up earnestly into his face. 

“Won’t the father let Tippo-Tib carry the burden?” 
he asked. 

Matthew laid his hand affectionately upon the 
islander’s shoulder. 

“It would prove too great a burden for you as well. 
It is a burden that cannot be transferred. It is the 
burden of the rich.” 

“The burden of the rich?” repeated Tippo-Tib with a 
puzzled expression. “Riches cannot be a burden. How 


MATTHEW BRENT 


265 


can the music of the birds, the scent of the flowers and 
the glory of the sunshine be a burden?” 

Matthew slowly shook his head. 

“Ah, Tippo-Tib,” he replied earnestly, “it is not that 
sense of riches that wearies one. It is not that wealth 
which comes from the ‘Giver of every good and perfect 
gift’ that is a burden; but the wealth that has been 
amassed through the lust for place and power. It is this 
material sense of wealth that soon becomes a burden.” 

“Then why does not the father lay it down?” 

“Why not ? Ah, there’s the rub! Once you have 
taken up the burden, you cannot lay it down. I am daily 
learning that wealth carries with it duties that must needs 
be performed—yes, and well performed, or many will 
suffer. 

“No, Tippo, Tib,” the aged man continued after a brief 
pause, “until these burdens can be shifted to shoulders 
better fitted to bear them than mine, I must bear them. 
As Horace Greeley used to say—” 

He stopped short, in sudden reverie, and remained thus 
for many moments, until Tippo-Tib quietly arose to his 
feet. This action aroused him and brought him back to 
himself. 

“Great man, Greeley,” he said with a deep sigh. You 
should have known him. Yes, you—” 

His speech was interrupted by the sudden entrance of 
Billy, who breezed in with a cyclonic swiftness that 
changed the entire atmosphere of the room and the moods 
of those present. 

“Well, here I am!” he exclaimed as he dropped his 
portfolio upon the table. “How is everybody this morn¬ 
ing?” and he beamed upon the assembled trio. 

“Very well, thank you, William,” was Matthew’s smiling 
reply. Then to Tippo-Tib: “Go and tell Mary that 
William is here.” 


266 


MATTHEW BRENT 


Tippo-Tib hastened to obey and Ila-Ila started to 
follow, but Billy seized her by the arm and spun her 
around in front of Matthew. 

“While we’re waiting, Mr. Brent, I want you to take 
a look at this. Did you ever see anything finer? Well, 
I guess not! And I want to tell you, Mr. Brent, that 
Ila-Ila and I have decided to get married; haven’t we, 
Ila-Ila?” and he held the little maid out at arms length 
and regarded her admiringty. 

The girl made no reply, as Matthew exclaimed in some 
surprise: “Is not this rather sudden, William?” 

“Sudden! Haven’t I been coming here nearly a month? 
You don’t call that sudden, do you? Why, New York 
is full of people that have not only been married, but 
divorced inside of that time. Ila-Ila and I have decided 
we can live like plutes on a hundred per, haven’t we, 
Ila-Ila?” 

“If the good father thinks best,” and the girl stood 
with downcast eyes awaiting the verdict. 

“I certainly have no objections,” was the benign reply, 
“and as Rip Van Winkle used to say: ‘May you live long 
and prosper!’ ” 

“Fine!” laughed Billy as he bent over and kissed the 
girl, “and that seals the bargain. Now, then, run along. 
Mr. Brent and I have a lot of business this morning.” 

The girl obeyed and Billy drew a chair up to the table. 

“Business,” repeated Matthew wearily. “Is that all 
I have to look forward to the rest of my life?” 

Billy stopped in his occupation of removing the papers 
from the portfolio and regarded him intently. 

“What else is there, Mr. Brent?” 

For a moment Matthew did not reply, but leaned 
forward and regarded the young man intently. 

“Is that all you know, William? Business?” 

“That and Ila-Ila.” 


MATTHEW BRENT 


267 


“And which means the most to you, young man?” 

“Which means the most to me? What do you mean?” 

“If you had to give up business, or Ila-Ila, which w T ould 
you give up?” 

Billy scratched his head. 

“Well, Mr. Brent,” he finally said, “right at this minute 
I’d give up the business. There’s plenty of good jobs 
I could get later on, but there’s only one Ila-Ila—at least 
in New York.” 

“Nor anywhere else, for you, William,” was Matthew’s 
earnest reply. “For every man, there is but one woman. 
Remember that!” 

“I expect you’re right,” and Billy drew a long breath. 
“I’m mighty glad I found my one so soon.” Then as 
an after thought: “But a man’s got to have business, 
too. He can’t give that up all the time, even for the 
one woman.” 

Matthew shook his head. 

“I’d be glad to give up all mine for nothing!” 

“Then why don’t you?” asked Billy turning upon him 
abruptly. 

“Because I can’t. I have found out the truth of 
Arthur Durham’s words that a rich man has duties he 
cannot shirk. Attending to these duties—I am just 
beginning to realize—is the highest idea of service. I 
am trying to perform my duties as best I can—and with 
your assistance, William,” he continued a little more 
cheerfully, “I don’t think I have done so badly. We may 
have made some mistakes, but we have corrected them as 
soon as we found them out.” 

“That’s right, Mr. Brent. I think you have done 
pretty well.” 

“But I shall be glad, William, when they are finished— 
for there is no one to whom I can turn over the affairs 
of the Simon Brent estate—unless it is you, William; and 


268 


MATTHEW BRENT 


I am afraid you are almost too young—although,” he 
added apologetically, “your advice has been good.” 

For just a moment Billy regarded Matthew silently. 
Then he asked with great earnestness: “Why don’t you 
turn the whole business over to Mr. Durham?” 

Matthew turned upon the questioner a startled look 
and placed his fingers on his lips. 

“S-s-s-h!” he said. “Mary won’t even let me mention 
his name! She says she has no confidence in him, and 
of course I haven’t either.” 

“Why not? Didn’t he help you out of a hole when 
all them crooks was trying to beat you?” 

“Yes, I’ll have to admit that; but we don’t agree. You 
see he wants to make money, while I—” 

“That isn’t it, Mr. Brent. He just wants to keep you 
from making mistakes.” 

“Do you think so, William,” and Matthew’s face 
assumed an expression of the deepest interest. 

“Sure thing, Mr. Brent. And say,” continued Billy, 
drawing his chair closer to his companion, “have you ever 
stopped to think how I’ve been able to give you the 
advice I’ve been giving you ever since the day you had 
the call from that man who knew Horace Greeley?” 

“The imposter!” exclaimed Matthew: “It makes my 
blood boil every time I think of him.” 

“That’s all right—to boil; but how about this good 
advice? Have you ever thought about that?” 

“Oh, yes; and I think you have done well. Your ideas 
and mine—and more recently Prichard’s, correspond 
exactly. I am sure we are slowly discovering how to 
divide the estate justly—” 

“But didn’t you ever wonder,” interrupted Billy, “how 
I—nothing but a clerk—could be so wise?” 

“Why—why—I suppose there is always a right way 
and you just naturally see it. You’ve always given me 


MATTHEW BRENT 


269 


good advice, William, ever since you advised me to get 
a shave. You’re a smart boy, William.” 

“Yes; but I am not smart enough to tell you how to 
manage millions of dollars. No, sir! If I hadn’t been 
told what to do by one of the smartest men in New York, 
we’d have made a mess of it.” 

“Oh! You mean Judge Everett?” 

“No, I don’t mean Judge Everett. He’s got plenty of 
other things to do. I mean a business man.” 

Matthew leaned forward and regarded the boy with a 
puzzled look. “Will you explain?” he finally asked. 

Billy unfolded a morning paper and laid it on the table. 

^Take this matter of the coal strike,” he said, pointing 
to the heading. “You know what trouble they’re trying 
to make?” 

“Yes; they want more pay. Don’t you think they 
should have it?” 

“Not if it’s going to make the price of coal so high 
poor folks will freeze. They ought to do as they’d be 
done by.” 

“I consider that good advice, William. We are slowly 
making them realize that.” 

“But you don’t think for a minute that I figured it out, 
do you? You don’t think I was able to show them where 
they’d lose in the long run?” 

“Why, I—I didn’t think much about that. It seemed 
the right way to talk to them.” 

“And then this matter of the Mahoning Steel Company. 
You can see—” 

“Yes, I can see I was wrong in that. I’m glad you 
pointed out to me that the other stockholders ought to 
be consulted. I can see that, just as I can see the wisdom 
of making our workingmen in various plants participators 
in the earnings. That was a great idea of yours, William. 
I certainly—” 


270 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“Oh, pshaw!” interrupted Billy. “I can’t stand all 
this praise, when it wasn’t my idea at all.” 

“Not your idea, William! Then whose was it?” 

“It was Mr. Durham’s, that’s whose it was, Mr. Brent! 
I’ve just got to tell you! I can’t go on this way any 
longer!” 

“Durham!” exclaimed Matthew, laying his hand on 
the young man’s knee. 

“Yes, Durham! He’s just kept right on helping, as 
he said he would, and saving you from a lot of crooks who 
were a lot worse than the man who knew Greeley.” 

“But why should Durham do this, William?” 

“Because he’s a good man, Mr. Brent. If you’d go 
down and talk things over with him, you’d save yourself 
a lot of worry. Yes, and you’d—” 

“S-s-sh!” interrupted Matthew. “Here comes Mary,” 
and the two of them busied themselves with the portfolio. 

“What are you whispering about?” asked Mary as she 
approached the table. 

“Whispering?” said Billy rising, as though in great 
surprise. “We weren’t whispering. I was just telling Mr. 
Brent where he could build a big library and give away 
another million dollars. But that’s going to be a secret, 
isn’t it, Mr. Brent?” 

“Yes, yes! It’s to be a secret for the present.” 

“Oh, very well,” was Mary’s rather listless reply as 
she walked across the room and gazed dreamily across 
the river. “I don’t think I am very greatly interested 
in affairs today, anyway.” 

“You might be if you knew what this is,” replied 
Matthew drily. 

Mary shook her head. “The only thing I am interested 
in is settling the estate and getting back to Tonga just as 
soon as possible.” Then turning suddenly: “How soon 
do you think that can be?” 


MATTHEW BRENT 


271 


Her unexpected question was just a bit startling and 
Matthew was unprepared to answer. 

“What do you think, William?” he asked. 

“Well,” replied Billy slowly, as though burdened with a 
great responsibility, “almost any time now.” 

“Yes,” was Matthew’s affirmation. “Almost any time 
now.” 

Mary gave a searching glance at the two, as though she 
thought they had suddenly lost their minds. 

“Do you know what you are talking about ?” she asked, 
with some asperity. “Almost any time,” repeating their 
words. “Why, you know that is impossible. It looks to 
me as though there were no end to this,” and the girl 
turned again to the window and leaned her forehead 
against the glass. 

“Of course I don’t mean right this minute,” declared 
Billy. “I mean after this—this—” 

“This secret,” said Matthew, helping the boy out. 
“After this secret has developed.” 

Mary laughed dryly. “It must be a wonderful secret.” 

“Indeed, it is,” replied Matthew with much more earn¬ 
estness. “It is really a most important matter. It may 
help in solving the whole problem. Did you say Prichard 
knew about it, William?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Then I believe I’ll go down to the office and talk it 
over with him.” 

“Why, Daddy!” and Mary turned from the window in 
genuine surprise, “You told me you never wanted to see 
the office again.” 

“Yes, I believe I did; but I’ve changed my mind. Tell 
Tippo-Tib to come and get me ready, and William, you 
order the automobile. I’ll be ready in five minutes,” and 
he arose from his chair and crossed the room with a more 
sprightly step than he had taken for weeks. 


272 


MATTHEW BRENT 


Ail hastened to obe}^ his instructions, and five minutes 
later he left the house, followed to the automobile by Billy 
and Tippo-Tib. 

“Good-bye, Mary,” he called back to the girl on the 
door-step as he was entering the machine, “as Horace 
Greeley used to say—” but the machine bore him away 
before Mary could hear the rest of his speech. 

Slowly Mary re-entered the door and the office, so 
recently vacated, her mind filled with many things. 

“I don’t understand it,” she mused, “but anyway the 
drive will do him good.” Then as she noted the papers 
lying on the table; “they didn’t attend to much business 
this morning. I wonder if they really are trying to keep 
something from me? Why Daddy was actually laughing, 
as they rode away. I wish I could laugh!” and she threw 
herself into Matthew’s big chair. “Why did I ever leave 
Tonga? Oh, Arthur! Arthur! How could you deceive 
me so?” and she buried her face in her hands and wept. 

“Who has deceived Missy?” asked a sweet voice at 
her side. “Not Mr. Billy?” 

Mary raised her eyes suddenly. 

“Oh, Ila-Ila, how you startled me! I didn’t hear you 
come in.” 

“Who has deceived Missy?” insisted the little maid. 

“Mr. Durham, Ila-Ila; but you wouldn’t understand.” 

“Missy hasn’t seen Mr. Durham for a long time. How 
could he deceive her?” 

“This was a long time ago.” 

“The bad man!” was Ila-Ila’s sympathetic comment. 
“What did he do?” 

“What did he do?” and Mary wrinkled her brows. 
“Why, he—he—didn’t tell me he was—that he did—well, 
that he went to places he couldn’t take me.” 

“Maybe he didn’t go. Did Missy ask him?” 

“Of course not!” 


MATTHEW BRENT 


273 


“Why not?” 

“How could I? He would think—” 

“He wouldn’t think any more than he thinks now, 
would he?” 

“I’m sure I don’t know,” was Mary’s hesitating reply. 
“I wonder what he does think?” 

“Why doesn’t Missy ask him? I would.” 

“What?” and Mary sprang from the chair and seized 
Ila-Ila by the shoulders. “You would ask him? If it 
were Billy, and he had done something you didn’t know 
about, would you ask him?” 

“Yes; and Mr. Bdly would tell me. I know he would.” 

The simplicity and faith expressed in the maid’s i 
moved Mary to action as nothing else could have done. 

“Of course he would, Ila-Ila; and I know Arthur will 
tell me. He said he would come whenever I sent for him. 
I’ll send now. Go call a messenger.” 

Ila-Ila hastened to obey while Mary turned to the 
table. Taking a pen from the rack, she cast her eye about 
for a sheet of paper. The first piece she picked up was 
the memorandum from which Billy had been reading and 
which, in his haste, he had forgotten. The handwriting 
attracted her attention and she gave a sudden start. 

“What is this?” she exclaimed as her eyes ran over the 
written words. “Advise no compromise with miners. 
Suggest increase for spinners in Squantuck mills. Refuse 
N. Y. P. & K. extension. Investigate Madison library 
needs. Explain Blackford matter. Durham.” 

“So !” exultantly, “this is where we have all been getting 
the wisdom to manage the estate. No wonder Mr. Gage 
was surprised at our improved understanding of condi¬ 
tions. Oh, Daddy, Daddy, what a lot of fools we all 
have been!” 

She re-read the memorandum, and as she did so Dur¬ 
ham’s course became even more clear, until she cried out 


274 MATTHEW BRENT 

for very joy: “Yes! Yes!And he has done it all because 
he loves me!” 

She pressed the paper to her lips and kissed the name. 
The simple contact with the signature seemed to open her 
eyes, and she sprang to her feet. 

“This is the great secret!” she said aloud. “Daddy 
has just found out and he has gone to the office. Oh, I 
can’t wait. I’ll go too!” 

Five minutes later she and Ila-Ila were speeding down 
town in the wake of the others. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


P RICHARD had just come down from his morning 
conference with Durham and Judge Everett, when 
Billy burst into his private office with the information 
that Matthew was in his office and wanted to see him at 
once. 

“What’s that?” asked the aged clerk rising to his feet 
with all the alacrity his rheumatism would permit. “Mat¬ 
thew here?” 

“Sure thing, Prichard! I’ve gone and let the cat out of 
the bag!” 

“What? You told him how things are being managed?” 
“Not entirely; but enough so he knows that Mr. Dur¬ 
ham—” 

“How’d he take it?” asked Prichard nervously, inter¬ 
rupting the youth in his explanation. 

“Tickled to death. Tired of the whole thing. He’s 
come down to talk it all over with you and Mr. Durham.” 

“Good ! Good!” and Prichard rubbed his hands 
together gleefuly. Then suddenly: “How’d Miss Brent 
take it?” 

Billy changed color and his confident manner left him. 
“Why—why, we haven’t told her.” 

“Then the sooner Mr. Durham knows conditions, the 
better,” said Prichard. “You go up and tell him, while I 
go in and talk with Matthew.” 

Billy darted away on his mission and a minute later 
Prichard, with his hands full of papers, entered Matthew’s 

275 


276 


MATTHEW BRENT 


office, where the books were piled up just as on the day he 
left. 

“Well, well, Matthew,” was his greeting, “I am surely 
glad you have come down. We have been wanting to have 
a conference with you for some days. You know—” 

“Yes, I know,” was Matthew’s quizzical interruption, 
“and I ought to be angry; but somehow or other I’m not. 
Do you know, Prichard, I feel ten years younger since I 
have learned that a young man is at the helm. Yes, and I 
guess I look it, don’t I, Tippo-Tib?” turning to the 
islander behind his chair. 

“The good father has heard good news,” was the char¬ 
acteristic reply. “It is good medicine.” 

“That’s right, Matthew. Good news is almost as good 
medicine as old Dr. Mandrakes’—” 

Matthew held up his hand with a warning gesture. 

“There, there, Prichard,” he laughed. “You needn’t go 
to recommending any patent medicines.” 

“Oh, I wasn’t going to recommend you to take any¬ 
thing. I was just going to tell you—” 

His words were interrupted by the sudden entrance of 
Gilson Gage, who burst into the office as he had on several 
other occasions, when he and Morris were trying to ‘put 
one over’ and had run afoul of a snag. 

“So, here you are?” was his greeting as he stopped in 
front of the desk at which Matthew was seated. “I 
suspected as much when I telephoned your house and was 
told you had gone down town.” 

His face was black as he spoke and there was that about 
his words, which Matthew resented, although at the 
moment he could not have told why. 

“Oh, you telephoned to the house,” and Matthew’s 
query contained in it the suggestion of surprise. “Any¬ 
thing special?” 

“Special! Special! Well I should think so, although it 


MATTHEW BRENT 


277 


may look quite regular to you. What do you mean by 
countermanding the order to the trust company to 
deliver to me the Squantuck Mills stock for Mrs. 
Blackford?” 

“Countermand the order? What do you mean? The 
only order I have countermanded was about closing 
down the Mahoning mills.” 

“Yes; I’ve heard about that too, and I’ll talk with you 
about that later. Now I want to know why the trust 
company has been instructed not to pay over that million 
in securities, after I have gone to all the trouble to get the 
widow to sign off—” 

His speech was interrupted by the entrance of Durham 
and Billy. 

“Why, good morning, Mr. Brent,” exclaimed Durham 
as he advanced and grasped the hand that Matthew 
extended. “We are certainly glad to see you!” Then as 
though seeing Gage for the first time: “Oh, hello Gage, 
what are you doing here?” 

“None of your business.” 

“Oh, is that so? Well, now, perhaps you are mistaken. 
What does he want, Mr. Brent?” 

“He wants to know why the trust company won’t 
deliver the million dollars’ worth of stock of the Squantuck 
Mills, for which I gave him an order, to settle the Black¬ 
ford claim. You know about the Blackford claim, don’t 
you, Arthur?” 

“Oh, yes, I know all about it,” and the emphasis he put 
upon the ‘all’ caused both Matthew and Gage to regard 
him intently. 

“Then, perhaps, you can tell,” sneered Gage, “why Mr. 
Brent’s order for delivery has not been recognized?” 

“Certainly I can. By order of the court it takes two 
signatures for such a transfer—Mr. Brent’s and mine. I 
have refused to sign the order; that’s all.” 


278 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“What?” 

It was Matthew who spoke as he arose quickly from his 
chair and confronted Durham with an angry look. 

“Do you mean to tell me,” he continued, when Durham 
made no reply, “that you refuse to let my orders in the 
Blackford case stand?” 

“That is exactly what I mean, Mr. Brent,” was Dur¬ 
ham’s positive and direct reply. “I shall be very glad to 
explain—” 

“I want no explanation!” declared Matthew with a 
sudden display of anger, breaking in upon Durham’s 
speech. “I can see—” 

A startled exclamation interrupted Matthew. 

It came from Mary, who had quietly entered the room 
while the others were speaking. 

“Oh, Daddy,” she cried as she came swiftly forward 
from the doorway in which she had halted, “let him 
explain. I am sure he—” 

Before she could finish there came a third in the series 
of interruptions. An inner door literally burst open and 
Morris rushed in with flaming eyes, his usually pallid face 
almost purple with anger, and with the manner of a 
madman. 

“So!” he shouted as he caught sight of Gage, “this is 
where you have hid yourself, you—you—two-faced 
crook!” and he seized his erstwhile confederate by the 
throat with a strength born of uncontrolled anger. 
“You’re trying to double cross me, are you? I’ll show 
you!” 

“What do you mean?” cried Gage, as with a fearful 
effort at self-preservation, he tore himself free from 
Morris’s grasp and, with clenched fists, placed himself 
upon the defensive. “Are you crazy?” 

“No, I’m not crazy, and you know what I mean. You 
told me that you could induce that imbecile there to pay 


MATTHEW BRENT 


279 


Mrs. Blackford only $200,000 and he has given you an 
order for a million! A million, do you hear, and you are 
trying to beat me out of it! I should kill you!” 

Had a shell from a Big Bertha struck the building, it 
could have caused no more surprise and astonishment to 
the others in the room, than Morris’s accusation. 

They were for the moment stricken speechless and 
motionless. 

But it was only for a moment, for the next instant 
Morris whipped a weapon from his pocket, with what 
intent no one could doubt. 

Aroused to action by the danger which threatened, 
both Durham and Gage launched themselves directly at 
the infuriated man—the former taking the risk of meeting 
the same fate that Morris intended for the latter. 

“Arthur!” came one wailing cry from Mary, as she 
realized the danger of her lover; but ere another word 
could be uttered, interference that prevented a tragedy 
came from an unexpected quarter. 

In the scuffle between Morris and Gage, the former had 
landed close to Matthew. Now, as the enraged would- 
be slayer drew his weapon and swung his arm to aim it at 
his victim, Matthew’s fist launched out with a vigor that 
demonstrated that a few weeks of worry could not entirely 
destroy what had been built up with years of out-door life. 

The blow struck Morris squarely on the side of the head 
and he went to the floor in a heap, his revolver flying to 
the other side of the room. With a single bound, Tippo- 
Tib was upon him and had him securely pinioned. 

By the time Morris realized what had happened, he 
found himself seated in a chair, with Tippo-Tib stand¬ 
ing guard over him with his own weapon and with a look 
upon his face that indicated he was there to obey any 
order Matthew might give, just as he had done for years 
in the Island of Tonga. 


280 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“And now,” said Matthew, who had stood apparently 
unmoved while the result of his blow was being decided, 
“let us hear, Mr. Gage, what you have to say to this 
accusation.” 

“Yes, Mr. Gage,” echoed Mary, who now stood with 
her hand on Matthew’s arm and regarded the two 
schemers with a courage greater than she had felt for 
weeks, “what have you to say?” 

Gage made no reply and for a long moment there was 
silence, until Morris burst out: 

“He has nothing to say! I have spoken the truth, and 
he knows it. I was to give him a chance to win the girl 
and he was to give me whatever could be obtained for the 
Blackford claim.” 

“And which,” continued Durham, “you had bought 
from Mrs. Blackford for $25,000.” Then to Matthew; 
“It was this release, Mr. Brent, signed by Mrs. Blackford, 
which Gage presented to the trust company, together with 
your order for a million dollars in stock. Now that you 
know the truth, I will ask you if you wish me to counter¬ 
sign your order and let Gage have the securities?” 

“Certainly not; but I would like for the widow Black¬ 
ford to have what I consider her due.” 

“Mrs. Blackford has had more than her due. Had it 
not been that some 01 . ‘ ^ the hies from your 

brother’s office, we should have been able to prove this 
to you days ago. As it is, it has only been within the past 
forty-eight hours that the real facts have come to light. 
An examination of the books of the Bridgeport National 
Bank, shows that +hp loan of $100,000 made to the 
Squantuck Mills ye- d three days after. 

The mortgage was ' ; r of form, and was not 

to be filed with ; n a e. Had not Mr. Blackford 

been stricken down suddenly, he would doubtless have 
returned the paper to Simon Brent, who was the president 


MATTHEW BRENT 


281 


of the company. He may even have been on his way to do 
this when he was taken ill; which would account for the 
paper being in his pocket. 

“I also think it but justice to your brother to say that 
the sums he had given Mrs. Blackford at various times 
amount to nearly fifty thousand dollars. She never would 
have made this claim, she tells me, had she not been urged 
to it by Morris, who told her she might as well have it as 
any one else, as long as you were giving it away.” 

“Do you mean,” asked Matthew slowly, “that Simon 
actually gave away to one family $50,000?” 

“He certainly did, Matthew.” 

It was Prichard who answered, and as Matthew turned 
upon him an enquiring look he continued: “Yes, and he 
gave away plenty of money to others who were entitled to 
it.” 

“There! Daddy!” cried Mary, “I knew Uncle Simon 
had a good heart and that he never defrauded anyone. 
Oh, how we have wronged him!” and she bowed her head 
upon her grandfather’s shoulder. 

For a long minute there was silence, as Matthew stood 
patting the girl on the shoulder as he had so often done 
when, as a child, she had come to him for comfort. 

“I want to refrain from doing anyone an injustice,” he 
at length said, “but I shall never interfere with justice 
being meted out to any man. I am sure it is only just 
that Mr. Morris should lose the $25,000 he paid Mrs. 
Blackford—unless his good friend and great financier, 
Mr. Gage, desires to make it up to him,” and Matthew 
cast a withering glance toward that crafty gentleman, 
who stood apart with downcast eyes and clenched hands. 

“A thing he might easily do,” suggested Durham, “out 
of what he cleaned up on Mahoning Steel stock.” 

“On Mahoning Steel stock?” queried Matthew, turning 
upon Durham a puzzled glance. “How was that?” 


282 


MATTHEW BRENT 


“Why,” was the explanation, “Mr. Gage’s disinterested 
advice that you close down the Mahoning plant, sent the 
stock down so fast that he must have been able to buy 
quite a bit of it very cheaply. The order to continue 
operations sent the price up again, so I suppose he may 
have cleaned up a million, or more.” 

“So!” and Matthew slowly nodded his head, while the 
attitude of weariness, temporarily laid aside, again 
appeared. “From the very beginning, it seems, I have been 
surrounded by crooks and liars.” 

“I object!” cried Gage and Morris in one breath. “I 
am not!” 

The former advanced with a threatening gesture, while 
the latter attempted to rise from his chair, but was pre¬ 
vented by Tippo-Tib. 

“Listen—the both of you!” said Durham sternly, draw¬ 
ing closer to Matthew. “When you leave this office, it 
will be forever. It is not enough that you are responsible 
for the death of Simon Brent, but—” 

“It’s a lie!” shouted Morris. “I defy you to prove it!” 

“I don’t need to prove it; but you know it was anger 
and the shock therefrom, at discovering your treachery in 
playing into the hands of Gilson Gage, that brought on 
the stroke that ended Simon Brent’s life.” 

“Of course he does,” affirmed Billy, who had remained 
in the background with Ila-Ila, an intensely interested 
auditor of all that was being said, “and so do I. Miss 
Mary sent me back to ask her uncle a question and I heard 
and saw it all.” 

For an instant Matthew drew himself to his full height 
and slowly raised his hand. Then, before anyone could 
divine what his intent might have been, he sank down into 
his chair/ 

“Not only thieves and swindlers, but murderers!” he 
muttered. “And all for what ? Money and more money! 


MATTHEW BRENT 


283 


Why was I ever induced to return to a place where I 
haven’t a single friendl” 

“Why, Daddy,” cried Mary in real distress, as she 
leaned over and tenderly stroked his hair, “how can you 
say such a thing. Can’t you see that Arthur has been 
your real friend from the beginning!” 

Then as she turned impulsively to the young man: “Oh, 

“Arthur, can you ever forgive me for listening to the 
others and doubting you?” 

With one swift movement Durham gathered her in his 
arms. 

“For doubting me, yes ; but not for doubting my love!” 
was his whispered reply. 

Mary’s sudden transition from grief to joy, seemed to 
change the entire atmosphere of the room, arousing even 
Matthew and the aged Prichard from the depths of sorrow 
and resentment, to a contemplation of the possibilities of 
the future. This changed condition was further accent¬ 
uated when Mary, in the exuberance of her joy, threw her 
arms about Matthew’s neck and exclaimed with the 
deepest conviction of its truth: 

“Daddy! Daddy! This will make everything all right. 
Arthur can manage the estate and you can go back to 
Tonga whenever you wish!” 

Slowly Matthew raised his head and regarded the lovers 
quizzically. 

“Tonga!” he finally said, while just the shadow of a 
smile flitted across his face. “Tonga! Yes, Mary, I 
expect that is where I had better go; but I guess it would 
seem pretty tame after all this.” Then, turning to 
Billy: “What would you advise, William?” 

Billy’s face grew red, as he replied slowly: “I’ll tell you 
my advice, Mr. Brent—and this is first hand: If you 
think, as I’ve often heard you say, that living is doing 
something for somebody, it looks to me as though you 


284 


MATTHEW BRENT 


could do more in that line on Manhattan Island than on 
any other island in the world.” 

“I consider that good advice,” said Durham. “We 
think so, too; don’t we Mary ?” 

“Indeed we do, Daddy. The estate isn’t divided yet.” 

“No,” admitted Matthew, “but it will be—and well 
divided I am sure. Where there’s a will to do right, there 
is always a way—even though an old fossil like me 
couldn’t discover it. Tame as it may seem, Tonga is 
about my size.” 

“O, pshaw!” exclaimed Billy in a tone of disgust 
“What makes you say that. They don’t make ’em bigger 
than you are.” 

“That’s expert opinion,” said Durham. 

“And you’d better remain and prove it,” added Mary. 

During all this conversation the others had stood 
silent but attentive listeners. When Matthew did not at 
once reply, Tippo-Tib, seemingly forgetful of Morris, 
came hastily forward, and kneeling at Matthew’s side, 
asked tremulously: 

“What says the good father?” 

“Well,” and Matthew looked up into the faces of Mary 
and Durham, “now that I see it is possible to be happy 
anywhere, New York looks pretty good to me. 

“Yes, Tippo-Tib,” and he laid his hand caressingly on 
the islander’s head, “the broader the sphere of activity, 
the greater good one should be able to do. I begin to 
understand, however, that in order to accomplish the 
greatest good, the man entrusted with the work must be 
as broad as the sphere of his activity. Before I leave 
New York I want to become that broad.” 

His gaze turned upon Morris and Gage, neither of 
whom had moved, although free to have done so. For an 
instant he hesitated; then in a voice resonant with 
emotion, and indicative of a memorable victory, he said: 


MATTHEW BRENT 


285 


“In this broadening process, gentlemen, I think I shall 
begin with you. What has occurred in this office shall go 
no further, and you are both at liberty to pursue your 
way, unhampered by any publicity on my part. I trust, 
however, that our paths may hereafter lay apart, 
although I shall remain in New York—at least until 
after the wedding. How does that suit you, Tippo-Tib?” 

Before the eyes of Tippo-Tib there arose a vision of 
blue waters, lapping white sands; of blue skies, gleaming 
through tall palms. To his ears came the song of 
tropical birds, while the fragrance of English roses, nur¬ 
tured by gracious sunshine seemed borne on the breezes 
from the southern seas. For an instant the vision stayed 
his speech; then, in a voice thrilling with faith and love, 
he replied trustfully: 

“The good father knows best.” 


THE E^D 


THE MOST AMAZING AND INTERESTING 
BOOK EVER PUBLISHED IN AMERICA 


THROUGH THE SHADOWS 
WITH O. HENRY 

By AL JENNINGS 

Mr. Jennings was probably the most picturesque train 
robber that ever lived. He came of a good Southern 
family, went to a fine military academy, was a runaway 
boy, broncho buster, lawyer, adventurer, train robber, 
prisoner, sheriff and author. He was pardoned by 
McKinley, he was restored to citizenship by Roosevelt, 
he was a friend of General Miles, and he was perhaps 
the most devoted friend O. Henry ever had. 

He and O. Henry first met in Honduras, both fugitives 
from justice. Amazing adventures followed for many 
months, after which they separated to meet again in the 
Ohio State Penitentiary, O* Henry serving a sentence 
of five years, and A1 Jennings for life. 

It is an inspiring story. Incredibly vivid is the idea 
that the only thing that matters is the spirit of a man— 
that no prison, no circumstance, no poverty, can make 
any difference to the strong soul, that the opinions of 
other men do not matter, that man—humanity—is what 
counts. 

Through this book shines the same spirit that has 
made the novels of Tolstoi so full of glorious hope for 
the world. 

Read what these great magazines and newspapers say 
of this book: 

“This book is a corker. It reeks with train robbery, hor¬ 
rible prison crueltry, pathos, sentiment—about every¬ 
thing that there is in human nature, and then some. It 
is true. Thomas Mott Osborne, who ought to know says 


that his account of prison horrors is even more gentle 
than the reality. 

“And there is O- Henry — guiltless of crime, and locked 
up in jail, as if by a stern taskmaker who said, “Now, 
will you write?” And some of us wonder, if after all, it 
matters how much an individual, — a finely sensitive 
soul — is made to suffer, if the final outcome is to be 
stories such as O. Henry wrote. It makes us feel more 
than ever that individuals, in the long run, do not count-” 

LIFE. 

“It is one of the most thilling yarns we ever encoun¬ 
tered- His narrative sweeps along in a rush of action 
that is irresistible”. 

NEW YORK HERALD. 

“Mr. Jennings has hitched his wagon to a star, but can 
travel under his own power- If O. Henry had died un¬ 
known, the book would be impressive for the light it 
throws on social conditions in America. 

LONDON TIMES. 

“This is terrible story which A1 Jennings tells — raw 
with suffering, red-eyed with passion and violence, 
lurid with outlawry, highway robbery, murder and sud¬ 
den death- Primitive instincts are shown naked and un¬ 
shamed; and with a crashing sincerity positively stag¬ 
gering, the author tells the thing as it happened let the 
chips fall where they will. 

NEW YORK TIMES. 

“O. Henry was a good judge when he encouraged A1 
Jennings to use his pen. Nothing could be more graphic, 
more dramatic, more human than the tragically pitiful 
figure of Ira Maralatt, the Prison Demon — the 
man-beast; the “taming”; the white-haired giant, keeper 
of canaries in the condemned row; the great sacrifice for 
little Dora, his daughter; it is a fine theme, finely used. 
Equally vital are such pictures as those of Sally, the 
songster of the prison, who shot her betrayer; and of the 
innoncent Kid and his electrocution.” 

ILLUSTRATED LONDON NEWS. 

Ask your bookseller for a copy or write to the publishers. 

PRICE—$2.50 

THE H. K. FLY COMPANY 
9 Barrow Street 


New York 


















, 

*• 


. 




*■> 












- 

























































. 




































































